'HE»LI0N 



AND 



iTHE^EAGLE 



1 \ 




f. 



THK 



Lion md tub E^gle 



A Cooiedy in^ Tlnree Act* 




^^X 



By JOHN E. RAISBECK. 



"DEC 8 1886 



Of 



WASH 



CINCINNATI : 

(iKo. E. P.RVAN, Theatrical Printer and Exgkavkr, 

58 West Fourth Street. 



K 



P5Z(. , 
. R/3L 






Entered accordinii- to Act of Congress, in the year iSS6. by 

loiiN E. Kaisbeck, 

in the Office of tlie Librarian of Cong-ress at Washington. D. C. 



CHARACTERS. 

JOHN Blassy, a British bottle manufacturer, visiting the 
United States in the interests of his business. He is a fat 
Yorkshireman. 

Sir Charles VVormley. a young British peer, taking his 
second pleasure trip to America. 

Tom Rlassy, a son of John Mlassy, and a friend of Sir Charles 
Wormley, visiting America for the first time. 

Robert Rosf.well, a rich American returning from a Euro- 
pean trip with his tvi^o daughters and a vi^idowed sister. 

George Duckerson, a New York museum manager, and 
uncle to the girls; also returning from Europe with his 
wife. 

Jake, a negro musician. 

Georgie Rosewell, a sharp, lively, caustic, and patriotic 
American girl. Daughter to Robert Rosewell. 

Clara Rosewell, her sister; more subdued, refined, and 
ladylike. 

Mrs. Alice Harpley, a widow, and sister of Mr. Rosewell. 
Mrs. Nellie Duckerson, wife of George Duckerson, and 

sister of Mr. Rosewell and .Mrs, Harpley. 
Kate, a mulatto girl at Mr. Rosewell's. 

Bowery boys, sailors, officers, etc. 



SCENERY. 



^CT I, ..... On Board the Servia. 

Scene — Outside Sandy Hook. 

Act II, .... Washington and New York. 

Scene i — Parlor in Mr. Rosewell's house, Washington. 
Scene i — The Bowery, New York ("ity. 
Scene -^ — Duckerson's office in his New York theater. 

Act III, At Mr. Rosewell's. 

Scene i — Conservatory and grounds around the house. 
Scene 2— The kitchen. 

Time — The Present. 



COSTUMES. 
Act I. 



First part of Scene-Q^oxgx^ and Clara in careless, everyday 
clothes such as are usually worn by people on shipboard. 

Latter part If Scene- ^W in the latest styles of traveling cos- 
tumes. 

Act II. 

Scene i— Georgie and Clara in morning wrappers. Kale in 
shabby dress, handkerchief on head, shoes unbuttoned. 
Mr Rosewell in morning gown, slippers, smoking cap etc. 
Mrs Harpley in walking dress, hat, etc. , suitable for shop- 
s',,; J' ^ffil assy in businesssuit slightly disordered hard round 
felt hat on one side. Bowery boys in all sorts of old clothes. 
Sir Charles in dark frock coat and vest, light trousers, 
hio-h light hat, blonde wig parted in center, blonde side 
whiskers and mustache, cane, gloves, etc. Tom Blassy in 
fashionable sack coat, gray trousers, light low-crowned 
hat, black mustache, no whiskers, cane, gloves, etc. 
George Duckerson in light summer suit, sack coat, light 
high hat, black mustache. Mrs. Duckerson in dress of 
some light stuff, parasol, etc. „ . , i 

Scene ^—Georgie in handsome, stylish walking dress, parasol, 
gloves, hat, etc. Clara in suit somewhat different from 
Georgie's, but equally elegant. 

Act III. 

All in full evening dress, but John Blassy's is old-fashioned. 



THH LION AND THE EAGLE. 



ACT I. 

Scene. — A steamer just outside of Sandy Hook^ approaching Nezv 
York. Officer on the bridge^ peering thivugh his glass at the sea 
in the distance. As the curtain rises ^ four or five sailors {good 
singers) are discovered working the chain and singing the follow- 
ing song : 

What joy there is on a gallant bark, 

Controlled by a gallant band, 
None but a fearless sailor lad 

Can ever understand. 
The wild delights of a sailor's life 

'Tis useless to explain 
To those who've never seen the seas, 

And crossed the Spanish Main, 

Chorus. — Don't speak of pleasures of home life 
To men so bold and free. 
A sailor's life is a jovial life; 
A sailor's life for me ! 

We go to islands of the seas, 

Where white men seldom go; 
And pluck the fruit from tropic trees, 

Or brush the Alpine snow. 
What'er we do, where'er we go, 

We sailors still remain — 
We sing and smoke and take our ease, 

And dream of Betsey Jane. 

Chorus. — Don't speak of pleasures of home life 
To men so bold and free. 
A sailor's life is a jovial life; 
A sailor's life for me ! 



6 The Lion and the Eog/e. 

As they finish sins^ung the last line a ringing Inngli by 
Georgie is heard on the outside, and immediately enter 
Geofgie and Clara ^ rather carelessly dress, d. 

Clara. There! there! Georgie! Don't be so rude. I am 
positively ashamed of you. You are much too ^■ 

Georgie How can I help being amused at that — that — 
(what do they call it in the newspapers?) — that noble scion of 
an effete monarchy ? With his eye-glass stuck in his eye half 
the time like an idiot. 

Clara. What language! Really 1 should not like Sir 
Charles to hear you. He would say you 

Georgie. I don't care what he would say. It is the last 
day on board, and I shall say what I please I intend to give 
him a pieee of my mind, if I get a cliance, for the many sneers 
he has cast at my country. Besides, what is he to me ? I never 
expect to see him again. 

Clara. That is no reason why you should speak disrrspt ct- 
fullyofhim. I much fear, however, that away down in that 
little heart of yours you do expect to see him again. 

Georgie. No, I don't. [Slight pause.) Or if I do, he will 
have to change his tone about America and everything Ameri- 
can, My own self-respect 

Clara. (Archly.) He ^e'?'// change his tone about c^/z^ thing 
American. 

Georgie. Don't be foolish. You see further with your 
eyes than your judgment. 

Clara. Time will tell. But, after all, we have had a de- 
lightful time on board. Now, haven't we ? 

Georgie. Oh, yes. Although I think (mind, I only think) 
that if it had not been for Mr. Blassy, the younger (r<?2''' very 
particular friend), and that popinjay, Sir Charles, our voyage 
vi^ould have been rather monotonous. 

Clara. [Laughing slightly ) Look out, now. Be careful 
what you say. 

Georgie. But he is a popinjay 

Clara. Then you have fallen in love with a popinjay, and 
I am sure you would marry him were he to ask you. 

Georgie. [Stamping her foot.) Never! 

Clara. Yes, you would. Just think of what 

Georgie. I say never! never! 

Clara. Just think of what he is heir to — paternal grounds, 
baronial halls, ancestral trees, and — and a title. 

Georgie. [Mimicking.) And — and a title. I guess you 



TJie Lion and the Eagle. 7 

would like the title. [Sarcastically.) You should set your cap 
for him, my dear — or your bangs. 

Clara. No; I would not s«-t my cap fur his title, nor [smooth- 
ing her hair) — nor my bangs either. But I might for his ances- 
tral estates. So beware of me. Georgie. You know I love 
anything that has age to ii; and the ancestral estatesof England 
have the aroma of a thousand years. \Ve may transplant and 
imitaie, but we can not give to our buildings the ancestral 
arnmn. 

C>E()R(;iE. Why, Clara, you are quite an Anglomaniac. 
Before long you will be despising your own country — you, the 
sensible Clara. / am an American. 

CiARA. And so am I. But that does not prevent me from 
admiring things in other countries unknown in ours, just the 
same as foreigners admire things in our country unknown in 
theirs. And Sir Charles Wormley has had the justice to admit 
that it is possible to live in America. 

Georgie. Possible, indeed! Possihle to live in America! 
And you think I would marry a man who talks in that super- 
cilious style about my country — a prating fool, who talks as 
though he had a pebble in his mouth— a dolt, who wears a 
single eye glass. Never I 

Clara. What dreadful language ! 1 wish you would be a 
little more choice in the use of words. Georgie. 

Georgie. It is only a habit of mine. 

Clara. And it is only a habit that Sir Charles has of wear- 
ing an eye-glass. He certainly does not talk like a fool, as you 
call him; for even j-t?// have been forced lo admit the justness 
of some of his remarks about America, and 

Georgie. No, I have admitted nothing. I am always and 
ever an American; and no Sir Charles W^ormley can make me 
be anything else — unless I wish to. 

Clara. When, for instance, he said that politics in America 
at election times always reminded him of the witches' cauldron 
in "Macbeth," the only difference being that the cauldron of 
politics was continually boiling over and somebody getting 
smirched. And when you replied that that was because we 
liked ourstew hot, did you not admit 

Georgie. ( With a ringing laugh.) Why, I admitted noth- 
ing. Didn't you see by my answer that I did not think his 
criticism worth a gooseberry ? 

Clara. Perhaps not. However, I think Sir Charles is 
quite sensible. 

Georgie. I suppose you do. It is a wonder you do not 



8 The Lion and the Eagle. 

marry him. For my part, I think him insufferably insolent, 
supercilious, egotistical, vainglorious, bigoted 

Clara. Stop! slop I Georgiel Perhaps you are equally 
so to him. 

Gkorgie. iy Laughing loudly at the thought.) I hope so; I 
hope so. Indeed, I do. '^- 

A voice is heard outside. 

Ci.ARA. Be quiet. They are coming. 

Georgie. I Avon't. I'll laugh the more. 

Georgie laughs again ^ Clara grasps her arm .^ and they retire 
up K., and look out upon the sea. Enter at the same tiftie 
Sir Charles IVormley and Tom Blassy, L., both dressed 
for traveling. Sir Charles holds his eye-glass in his left 
hand^ looks rather namby-pa^nbyish^ bntiszvithal shrewd 
and sarcastic. Toj?i is a manly looking young fellow, 
and dressed to contrast somewhat. 
Sir C. [Dra7olingly.) There she goes again — fairly howl- 
ing with vacant and idiotic laughter. There is nothing that 
so soon gives me a mental nausea as vacant laughter. 
Tom. Do you call that vacant laughter ? 
Sir C. Yes What do you call it? 
Tom. I call it a merry, girlish laugh. 

Sir C. Tut, tut 1 There is nothing girlish about it, and 
nothing very merry. It is affectation, my boy — affectation — 
too forced to be natural. 

Tom. But verv winsome, withal. 
Sir C. Only to a fledgling. 
Tom. Like myself, for instance. 
Sir C. Exactly. 
Tom. I envy your effrontery 

Sir C. I know you do, and would imitate it if you could. 
But I was about to say, Tom — remember we are on shipboard, 
and not in America yet, else I would not dare to say it. 
Tom. Well, go on. 

Si R C. ( Looking around, and motioning toith his finger in the 
direction of Georgie and Clara.) No American ladies ca.n hear 
us, can they ? 

Tom. I should scarcely think so. 

Georgie. [Aside to Clara.) I wonder what they are talking 
about. 

Clara. Oh, about billiards and cigars, I suppose — what 
young men usually talk about. 

They unconsciously dra^v nearer^ a}id overJiear the following: 



7 he Lion and the Eagle. 9 

SiK C. Well, I was about tu say that forced laughter is a 
pecul amy of the American ladies — perhaps I should call it a 
national failing; for all the ladies laugh unnecessarily, es- 
pecially when enteriaining company, and all the girls giggle 
immoderately at the mcjst commonplace remarks. 

Claka. [To Georgie^zuho has clenched her hands and become 
terribly excited.) Oh, why — why did we listen to this? Come 
away, Georgie. Come. {^Georgie is immovable^ 

Tom. a result, perhaps, of their naturally high spirits. 
Sir C That is exactly the impwession they wish to convey. 
But by watching them closely you perceive that it is mostly, 
as 1 said before, affectation — thrown in partly to fill up the 
pauses in conversation, and partly to be thought lively and 
entertaining. A sham, my deah boy; and I detest shams. 

Georgie.gnashes her teeth ^ and Clara zvith difficulty prevents 
her f rem rushing at Sir Charles. 
Tom. I fear you are prejudiced. Perhaps you have been 
jilted by some fair American, who was too independent to sell 
herself for your title 

Sir C. No, no. 'Pon my honah, no. 

Tom. If not that, then there must be something else. But 

I think you said that the women as well as the girls 

Sir C. {Putting his hand on Tom's arm.) Stop where you 
are, Tom; you have misunderstood me. I did not say the 
women ; I said the ladies. 
Tom. The what ? 
Sir C. The ladies. 

Tom. But — I — I do not understand you. Tell me what you 
are talking about. Are not women ladies ? 

Sir C. Yes; but ladies are not women — in America. 
Tom. { Pausing and arching his eyebrows.) I fail to penetrate. 
Sir C. No doubt; and there will be many things, my deah 
fellow, you will fail to penetwate before you get through. 
Tom. What a peculiar people the Americans must be. 
Sir C. Yes, a vewy peculiar people. 

Georgie makes another effort to get at Sir Charles^ but is pre- 
vented by Clara. 
Sir C. [Continuing.) Even the washerwomen and the 
servants (female >^r^, I should say) would be insulted did you 
call them women. [Slapping him on the shoulder.) They are all 
ladies, my deah boy — all ladies. 

Tom. " What about the negresses that I shall see ? 
Sir C Well, they are not negresses now. 
Tom. No ? Good Lord, what are they ? 



lo The Lion and ihe F.agle. 

Sir C. 'i hey are — colored \^A\g?,. 

Tom, [Ata loss for words to express his thoughts suitably.^ Vou 
stagger me ! I am bewildered ! I — I fail to pene rate. 

Sir C. Watch your speech, Tom; watch yours])eech — if 
you do not want to be thought rude You must not, for in- 
stance, speak of the barnyard fowls as anything Initioosiers 
and chickens. They have no cocks and hens. They do not 
know what they are. You must be vewy particular about this 

Tom. Very particular about it ? 

Sir C. Vewy. 

Tom. But I say, Charles, have they no dictionaries? 

Sir C. Lots of dictionaries, but few weaders. Everyman 
is a dictionary unto himself, especially the editors. 

Tom. No, no, no, Charles ; you can not make me believe 
everything. When you attempt to cast a slur at ye gentle 
editor, I shall have to draw the line. Besides, he will cut your 
head off — with his pen — if he hears you. 

Sir C, No fear. There's none on board. 

Tom. But what makes you say the editors are dictionaries 
unto themselves? 

Sir C. Why, because they are continually twying to reform 
the language or to coin new words. One first-class paper, for 
instance, spells philosophy, philanthropy, and such like words 
with an f ; and another will have nothing to do with the word 
"manufacturer," but always pwints it " facturer." 

Tom. What a strange people ! Every editor a dictionary. 
And what a singular way to study brevity. If'' brevity is the 
soul of wit," then their papers must be very witty. I shall like 
to read their papers. Full of strange thoughts, no doubt. 

Sir C, {Sarcastically.) Brimful, brimful. And one thing 
more, my deah fellow, I must caution you about. Nevah speak 
of shops to a lady; it is too suggestive of machine shops, or 
something of that sort. You must call them stores. 

Tom. Call shops stores ? 

Sir C. Yes. 

Tom. Then, of course, it will not do for me to ask a lady if 
she has been shopping ; for if the English go shopping in shops, 
it necessarily follows that the Americans go storing in stores. 
I must therefore ask her if she has been storing. 

Sir C. By no means. 

Tom. No? What a peculiar people! 

Sir C, A ve^vy peculiar people. 

Georgie. [Stepping up, ito longer able to control herself .) Mr. 
Blassy, allow me to inform you that Ave do not go storing in 



The Lion and tJie Eagle. 1 1 

stores. We go shopping in stores. When we have any storing 
to do, we do it 1 y storing our goods in the store. Now, do }OU 
understand? {Jurnifig to Sir Charles dfjiantly.) And if Sir 
Charles Wormley has anything mor( 

Ci.ARA. [More subdued.) I think, Mr. l^lassy, that Sir 

Georgie. Will you let me speak, Clara ? 

Clara. Not just now, dear; you are too excited. Mr. 
Blassy, I think Sir Charles is imposing a little upon your cre- 
dulity. You will find that we are not such a zr^j peculiar pec pie 
as he would have you believe. We have our peculiarities, it is 
true; but 

Sir C. I was not aware that our conversation had the honah 
of being listened to by — ladies. 

Turns and takes a few steps up I.. 7i'ith Tom. 

Georgie. (Angj-il)'.) I suppose you think, Sir Charles, that 
we ought to stand quietly by, Sir Charles^ and hear insults, Sir 
Charles — yes, sir, insults — heaped upon us by a picayunish 
English lord ! 

Clara. Oh, Georgie! Georgie! 

Sir C. [Aside to Tom ) I say, my deah boy, you like 
spunk There is spunk for you. 

Tom. Too much "^^^wvlV for you.^ I should say. 

Sir C. [Coolly adjusting his eye-glass.) Ladies, will you 
permit me to remark 

Georgie. We don't want 1o hear any remarks from a man 
who wears a glass in his eye, prrt> his hair in the middle, puts 
on puppy airs, talks as it he had a hot potato in his mouth, and 
looks like a Chimpanzee. 

Clara. Georgie, dear, please don't talk so. It is shameful. 
Let us all part friends. Remember this is our last day on board. 

Georgie. I am going to speak my mind first. And whi e 
I am about it. Sir Charles, since you have been so free in ex- 
pressing yourself about the Americans, let me tell you what I 
think about the English T think they are the most arrogant, 
the most selfish, and the most egotistical people on the face of 
the earth ; and that Sir Charles Wormley is the most arrogant 
( Clara takes hold of Georgie'' s arm., and shakes it in an effort to stop 
her).^ the most selfish, and the most egotistical of them all ! 
There ! 

Clara throivs up her arms in despair^ and Georgie walks 
excitedly across the stage. 

Sir C. [Aside to Tom.) Gweat country for divo'ces, is 
America. 

Tom. [Significantly.^ I should almost think so. 



12 



The Lion and the Eagle. 



Fnter Mr John Blissy and Mr. Rosexvell, R. M^^ Blassy 

fa very fat man, If true Falstaffian proportions fu^^^ 

RftvvZsof age, and wearing very big English ^^f^^"f 

ToeT Mr Rosewell is about the same age, bu rather 

le der and ^^enteel looking. Blassy has ji ^orkshne 

tcentjut not too broad. Both are dressed for landing. 

T^rAssY What' What! Tom, me lad. quarreling with the 
Us^f ^Na r.is will — ^- Jl^;;.ir^Andy?:M\7s 
^turning and ol-cr^^'^-i^e^^SU^^^^^^^ herlnder the 

dimpled chin quarreling with your 

Jfr/r,uaS\vS friend .her^tha. insolent spng 

°^7^^?' What, Sir Charles? Nay, I can not believe that. 

I r y^hought S.r Charles too ™uch o a Se;;^;^. ^^^,^^ 
.i^^aU tn »; ifC an^I "^intend that the charnrin. 
Miss Rosewell shall be the first. .^ „,e 

''"If.y-.Aand? I re is too hort to waste it foolishly, as 
lass. ShaVe hands. Ul^e.^ ^^,,is alkis sl,-'ach.) 
a greater man ran me ha sa,^ J ^^ ,„^„ b, friendly wrtb 

, ^ ■ ,aVe,;iTemen i have invited Mr. Blassy to pay us a 
'^^Z m-ZZ will, of course, bring his son and btr 

"^ cltr:" h''w -very good of you, papa. I'm sure we will do 
our best to enterlain them j 

r R."Qiife"Hght,ai:;'; anrihope GeorgiewiU show 
the same obliging spirit. o^.p^ell if the young uns are 

J^plSant^^'e t r:T:o^M ^^y ^^p.^^"- -" -• 
'To:: ^mV'flthe-r^-rhtve noCbiuhe Uindliest feelings 

for the ladies .j c:,-^ r/,r,rl^s ^ And I, for my part, 

CiARA { Moving toward Sir Uiaries.) ahu , j r 

Clara'^^MWO Perhaps this will excite her jealousy a 
little. We women are queer creatures. 



The Lion and the Eagle. 13 

Georgie. [Aside.) She thinks I don't see through her 
little scheme. But I do. I know she prefers Mr. Blassy. 

{^Exeunt, one couple 'L.^the other Yi. 

Blassy. Now, as I >vas saying when we tumbled on them 
youngs uns a fighting, facts is facts, business is business, and 
friendship is friendship. 

Mr. R. All very true, Mr. Blassy — all very true. 

Blassy. Which being the case, you will exert yourself, for 
friendship's sake, to repeal the duty on glass. For me it will 
be business, and your reward will be a fact. [Slaps him on the 
shoulder. ) I may say, Mr. Rose well, a varry substantial fact. 

Mr. R. You could not, perhaps, be more definite, and ex- 
plain how substantial the fact will be. 

Blassy. Well, no, not just now ; but four ciphers will partly 
express it. Of course, you will exert yourself personally, Mr. 
Rosewell — do, in fact, a little lobbying. I believe that's what 
you call it. 

Mr. R. Yes, that is our polite term for boring and button- 
holing our Congressmen. You may depend upon me to do my 
utmost to further your interests, Mr. Blassy. And, further- 
more, I will engage Mrs. Harpley, my sister, to help us. The 
ladies, sir, are the most successful lobbyists in our country. 

Blassy. [With a surprised look.) Indeed! Well! well! 
well! But, then, what can't woman do? Nay, is there any- 
thing on this hemispherical globe that woman can not do? 
Poor, puny man must seek her aid in everything. Woman ! 
woman ! 

Mr. R. Why, Mr. Blassy, you are quite tragic. 

Blassy. ( With a feeble smile.) Yes, I was a poet once. 

Mr. R. Ka! ha! ha! Impossible! Once a poet, always 
a poet. Poets, you know, are born, not made. 

Blassy. Fact, I assure you. There was once a time when 
this portly form was as light as the downy web of a fairy's wing. 

Mr. R. Why, you are quite poetical still. [Slyly scanning 
his person.) But that must have been in the long, long ago. 

Blassy. Not so long as a dull sermon, nor so short as a 
lover's walk ; but it was before Age had plucked me by the 
beard, and Time liad not reared this monument of flesh to 
curse my later days. [Putting his hands on his stofnach.) 

Mr. R. Mr. Blassy, I would advise you to cultivate the 
muses by all means — if you can reduce your flesh. They do 

not go well together, and [Merry voices are heard on the 

outside.) Here comes that perennial bore, my brother-in-law. 
You must excuse him if he sometimes 



I A The Lion and the Eagle. 

Enter George Diickcrson^ unth Mrs. Duckerson and Mrs. 
Harplcy on his arms. D inkers on is a lively^ hail-felloiv- 
well-inet sort of man , and the ladies are also jolly. They 
are aboict thirty-five years of age, and are dressed for 
traveling. 

Duckerson. Here, you old graybeards, are you never- 



Mrs. Harpley. Mr. Blassy, I shall have lo take you under 
my wing once more if you don't 

Mrs. Duckerson. Robert, are you going to keep Mr. 
Blassy here talking until the last minute ? 

Mr. R. My dear sisters, we are all ready. Only our trunks 
tolook after. 

Mks. H. And that, you know, is the most important thing. 
Is i I not, Mr. Blassy? 

Blassy. If the ladies say so, Mrs. Harpley, it must be so. 

Mrs. D. [Aside to her hiisband.) Charming old man. Alice 
is j ust — yozi know. 

Duck. {Ready to burst zvith laughter ) Well, I should say I 
do know. 

Mr. R. I will go below and see what the girls are doing. 
Now, Mr. Blassy, don't forget to visit us, and we will endeavor 
to make your stay as pleasant as possible. 

Exit Mr. Rosewell, the ladies accompanying hhn to the door. 

Mrs. H. {Speaking after him.) Robert, tell Clara to look 
after my sachel. 

M rs. D. ( Also speaking after him. ) And tell Georgie not to 

talk to that young officer too much, or I shall tell Sir Chawles. 

They both laugh heartily, retire up C, and gaze tipon the sea. 

Duck. ( To Mr. Blassy. ) I say, old man, I guess you have 
yet some smack of youth in you, eh ?— some relish for the salt- 
ness of the flesh ? 

Blassy. I don't exactly 

Duck. No, you don't exactly catch on — no, of course not. 

Blassy. [Looking bewildered .) As Tom says, I fail to pene- 
trate. 

Duck. Why now, look here, I know a sweet creature that's 

just gone on you. 

Blassy. [With a loud guffaw.) Ha! ha! ha! I never 
thought you could be so interesting. Tell me more about it. 

Duck. And I'll bet you five dollars you don't know who 

it is. 

Blassy. It cartainly can't be Mrs. Ducker 

Duck. Look out, old man. 



The Lion and the Eagle. 15 

Blassy. Well, I give it up. 

Duck. That's good enough. If you don't know Avho it is, 
then I've done talking about it. You certainly are an old slick. 
I dare say, though, you have known the time that you could 
have crept through a bride's wedding ring. [Svu'les and looks 
at Blassy from head to foot. ) 

Blassy. I've heerd say as the Americans is a 'umorous 
people. I suppose jj't'z/ are a 'umorous American. 

Duck. Yes, a little that way. But now for a few^ words on 
business, John. 

Blassy. ( With dignity.) Mr. Blassy ^\{ you please. 

Duck. All right. Blassy then it is. 

Blassy looks at him with zvithering scorn, kit says nothing 

Duck. ( Continuing ) 1 t's a delicate subject ; but I've made 
up my mind to ask you, this being the last day we shall be to- 
gether. I've been over to Europe seeking artists and curiosi- 
ties. Now, how would you like me to engj^ge you as a curiosity 
for my museum ? 

Blassy. {Disgustedly.) Sir? 

Duck. You would have nothing to do but sit on a platfoim 
in two chairs instead of one, and smile at the ladies all day. 

Blassy. ( Mo)-e disgustedly.) Ton my soul, sir, I never- 

Duck. I know you never exhibited. Hut that is nothing. 
Don't let that worry you. {Sleips hitn goodhvvioredly ) Think 
it over, Mr. Blassy — think it over. Your fortune is made. 

\Exit Mr. Duckerson. 

Blassy. {In a tage.) And is it come lo this that I, a repre- 
sentative British merchant, a man with wealth enough to buy 
all the beggarly museums in the country — that / should be in- 
sulted at every turn, upon a British ship, by an enterprising 
Yankee showman? Now\ by all me forefathers, I want an 
apology — I wantsatisfaction— I want revenge. {Struts around.) 
The ladies turn around suddenly, run, and each catch an 
arm. 

Mrs. H. Why, Mr. Blassy, what is the matter ? 

Mrs. D I never saw you in such a passion before. You 
must have encountered something fearful. 

Mrs. H. Or been abused terribly. 

Blassy. {Calming dozvn.) I y^az/^ been abused, ladies. Me 
feelings have been hurt— I may say stabbed. I have (I am 
ashamed to say it) — I have been asked to join a museum as a 
curiosity. 

Mrs. D. Oh, I am sure George did not mean to insult you, 
Mr. Blassy. It is merely a matter of business with him. 



1 6 The Lion and the Eagle. 

Mrs. H. That is all, Mr. Blassy. And where no offense is 
intended, you know, none should be taken. 

Blassy. {Patting them tmder the chin.) Well spoken, me 
dears. Perhaps it is as you say. 

Mrs. D. {Aside to Mrs. ff) It may have been one of 
George's dreadful jokes. 

Mrs, H. Just possible. 

Mrs. D. But upon what grounds did he wish to engage 
you, Mr, Blassy? 

Mrs H. Yes, why did he wish to exhibit you as a curiosity? 

Mrs. D. You are not deformed in any way. 

Mrs. H, Nor yet capable of writing with your foot and 
that sort of thing. 

Blassy. {Looking doubtfully at them.) Well, now, \i you 
don't know, I'm sure /don't know. Perhaps it was me superb 
good nature he wanted to exhibit. 

Mrs. D. Ha! ha! ha! Do you believe that a good-natured 
man is so great a curiosity ? 

Blassy. Me fifty years of life have led me to believe so 

Mrs. H. I think, Mr. Blassy, you are about light. Thor- 
oughly good-natured men are as scarce as fifty-dollar bills in a 
tenement house. 

Enter Sir Charles and Clara, L., and Tom and Georgie R. 
The girls have changed their dresses, and are now ready 
for landing. 

Clara. Come, aunties — both of you — the steward says we 
shall be landing in two hours, and that we had all better be 
getting ready. \^Sir Charles and Torn retire up C. 

Mrs. H. Yes, dear, we are coming. Now, Mr. Blassy 
[taking his arm), don't forget my brother's invitation to visit 
us. We shall expect you. {To Mrs. D.) And you, Nellie, 
also. 

Mrs. D. { Taking Blassy' s other arm) Certainly I shall be 
there. I don't propose that you shall have Mr. Blassy all to 
yourself. Oh, no. 

^Exeunt Blassy^ Mrs. H., and Mrs. D., laughing. 

Clara. {To Georgie.) Well, have you got over your patri- 
otic soreness? 

Georgie. I have not, and never expect to, unless 

Clara. Unless what? 

Georgie. Unless somebody apologizes. 

Clara. Well, I dare say Sir Charles will accept an apology . 

Georgie. Indeed! He will accept an apology, will he? 



The Lion and the Eagle. 17 

I want you to understand. Clara, that I consider an apology 
due from Sir Charles to me. 

Clara. Ah, that is quite another thing. 

Georgie. And quite the correct thing. And I want you 
and your puppy English lord to know it. 

Clara. [Petting her.) There! there I Don't get angry — 
that's a little dear — and it shall receive an apology, so it shall. 
But suppose Sir Charles looks at it in a different light ? 

Georgie. He vii/stn^t look at it in a different light. 

Clara. Oh, if he mustn't, he mustn't; and that's an end 
of it. When the eagle screams, let the lion beware. 

Georgie. You may be funny if you like. But I'm going 
to show you that I'll bring that man to his knees, or — or he'll 
never see me in pa's house. 

Clara. That would be sad, indeed — too sad for contem- 
plation. We must not permit such a catastrophe to occur. 
Really, the world would 

Tom. ( Turning around and moving toiuat'd the girls Sir 
Charles follotving.) I see the sailors are beginning to move. 

Sir C. And pwaps we had bettah be doing the same. 

Georgie. {Aside to Clara.) Now watch me brmg that 
man to his knees. 

Clara. I'll watch. 

Georgie. [Pretending to carry on a previous conversation.) 
And what a nice old gentleman he is — your father I mean, Mr. 
Blassy — and what a pleasant world this would be if everybody 
were as destitute of satirical remarks as he is. 

Sir C. [Aside to Tom.) My boy, that is intended for me. 

Clara. I quite agree M'ith you, Georgie. The elder Mr. 
Blassy is indeed a lovable old man. I could almost put my 
arms around his neck and call him " Father." 

Tom. [Aside to Sir C) Now, by Jove, ///rt/ is intended for 
me. 

Georgie. And I think it is nothing but right that people 
who are not entirely devoid of honor should feel sorry for 
words uttered that may have wounded another. 

Clara. Quite right. 

Georgie. Then, Clara, I think you will admit that there is 
a gentleman around here who ought to feel sorry — and who 
consequently ought to apologize — for some very unkind re- 
marks made to me. 

Tom. Miss Rosewell, am I the gentleman ? 

Georgie. No, sir; you are not. 

Clara. Am I the gentleman? 



i8 The Lion and the Eagle. 

Georgie. [Smiling.) Scarcely. 

Tom. Why, who can it be ? 

Georgie. [Looking demurely down at herfoes.) Is there no 
one else around here ? 

Tom. ( Looking up above his head.) I see no one. 

Clara. [Looking around ) Neither do I. 

Georgie. I see you are very funny, but it is no 

Sir C. I nevah knew before that I was so attenuated as to 
be invisible to mortal eyes. I think Miss Wosewell wefers to 
me. But I was not aware that any wemarks of mine could be 
construed as offensive, and therefore wequiring an apology. 
On the contwary, I was vezvy much aware that Miss Wosewell 
might with pwopriety apologize to me. 

Georgie. Sir, your impudence is simply marvelous. Do 
you know to whom you speak ? 

Sir C. Perfectly. And to show you that I have no ill feel- 
ing, Miss Wosewell, if you will kindly specify the words that 
you considered personally insulting, I shall be most happy to 
apologize. 

Gforgie. Sir Charles Wormley, you know very well what 
you said. I do not now recall the particular words ; but I know 
this, that you insulted my country, and therefore insulted me, 
for which I want an apology. 

Sir C. Ah, that is something altogether diffewent. W^hen 
yourcountwy demands an apology, then I will apologize to the 
fairest representative of your countwy. 

Georgie. {Sneeringly.) To theyiz/Vrj/ representative of my 
country ? 

Sir C. Yes. 

Georgie. Hear him, Clara; he is willing to apologize to 
the yazV^J/ representative of my country. Will you please step 
this way ? 

Clara. [Who has been conversing aside unth Tom.) Fight 
your own battles, Georgie. Mr. Blassy and I are already ar- 
ranging for their visit in the fall. [Signijicantly.) You'll get 
left if you don't mind. 

Georgie. My sister, sir, does rot want an apology. It is I 
who want it. 

Sir C. [Conciliaiingly .) It was you whom I meant, and it 
is you who shall have it. 

Georgie. I? Then, sir, down on your — I mean, humble 
yourself; apologize. 

Sir C. Allow me to ask first, Miss Wosewell, dees your 
countwy wequire it ? 



The Lion and i/ie Eagle. 19 

Georgie. It does. 

Sir C. And it is absolutely necessawy that I must obey 
your countwy's mandate in order to secure your forgivene.ss 
and — and good-will? 

Georgie. It is. 

Sir C. Then, come ; we will talk about it. This is a vewy 
serious matter. [Ojffers his arm.) 

Georgie. {Aside, as she viciously gras fs his arvi.) He has 
not apologized yet. I will make him do it if I have to man y 
him for it. [ They letire tip. i.. 

Clara. {Mockingly, aside to Geojgie as they pass,) Well. 
Georgie dear, did you bring him to his knees yet ? Hal ha I ha I 

Georgie. {In the same tone of voice. ) Not quite, Clara love ; 
only to his arms. 

Clara. {To Tom.) Almost like a lovers' quarrel, Mr. 
Blassy ; don't you think so ? What do you think of it all ? 

Tom. I think it would be well if we did a little quarreling, 
so that you could ask me to do some apologizing 

Clara. Suppose we try ? 

Tom. With all my heart. But what would pa say ? What 
would both our pa's say? They might 

Georgie. ( With a sudden laugh.) How very funny you can 
be sometimes. Sir Charles. Clara, I am going for my wraps. 
Don't delay. The sailors are getting ready to drop the anchor. 

^Exeunt Georgie and Sir Charles. 

Tom. Confound it I I thought she'was laughing at me. 

Clara. Then you must have a guilty conscience, Mr. 
Blassy. Unburden it. What were you about to say ? 

Tom. Only this: You said my father was a lovable old 
man, and that you would like {A noise is heard outside. ) 

Clara. What was that? 

Tom. Oh, nothing. {Koise heard again.) 

Clara. There it is again. They are hauling the baggage 
up. We must be getting ready. 

Tom. The deuce take it 1 They are always hauling things 
at the wrong time. The baggage-smasher is an incubus on 
society. He ought to be exterminated. When he is not break- 
ing boxes, he is breaking hearts. 

YEjceiint.^ arm in arm. 

The noise confirmes : officer on bridge gives some directions : 
the sailors begin %v or king the chain .^ and sing the following 
verse from the opening song : 



20 The Lion and the Eagle. 

What joy there is on a gallant bark, 

Controlled by a gallant band, 
None but a fearless sailor lad 

Can ever understand. 
The wild delights of a sailor's life 

'Tis useless to explain 
To those who've never seen the seas, 

And crossed the Spanish Main. 
Chorus ,—Viox\\ speak of pleasures of home life 
To men so bold and free. 
A sailor's life is a jovial life; 
A sailor's life for me ! 

While the sailors have been singing, Mr. Blassy, Mr. Roscwell, 
Mr. Duckerson, Sir Charles, Tom, Georgie, Clara, Mrs. 
Ditckerson, and Mrs. Harpley have entej-ed, carrying sachels 
in their hands ^ and wraps upon their arms . 



ACT II. 

Scene i. Parlor in Mr. Rosewelts house, Washington. Doors 

right and left, and double door center. Kate is discovered dusting. 

Kate. 'Pears to me as if Miss Georgie and Miss Clara hal) 
neber been de same gals sence day cum home. No singing, no 
dancing, no nuthin'. Always talking 'bout deir European 
trip, an'cl dem lords ober dere, and old castles and abbeys and 
ruin's. I'm sick ob it all. And den dey sometimes talk, 
kinder in a whisper, 'bout two fellahs dat cum ober in de same 
ship as dey did, and wonder why dey neber get a letter from 
dem. I knowed how it 'd be befo' dey went away. Says I— 
but here come de young ladies demselves. I must be gwine. 

[ Exit. 

Enter Georgie and Clara, C.,.in morning wrappers. 

Clara. Yes, yes, Georgie ; I know it. Papa was only say- 
ing yesterday that it is now four weeks since we left New York, 
and that he thought Mr. Blassy would surely have written be- 
fore this. 



The Lion and the Eagle. 21 

Georgie. Perhaps Mr. Blassy, the elder, is too busy seeing 
the sights of the great city; but 1 think Mr. Blassy, the younger, 
might have let us know if we may expect them next month. 

Clara. Yes, or Sir Charles might have 

Georgie. Please, Clara, don't. That man never- 

Clara. Might have wiitten to inform us if he is yet pre- 
pared to go down on 1h> knees. Ha] ha! ha J 

Georgie. You are simply horrid. But he will have to 
apologize, even if I did apparently make it up. 

Clara. He shall. 

Georgie. He must. And if he still 

Enter Mr. Rosewell in morning gowtz^ slippers^ etc. 

Mr. R. Girls, I have just reeeived a letter from Mr. Blassy. 

Clara. ( Eagerly. ) W h at does h e say ? 

Georgie. {Eagerly.^ When are ihey coming ? 

Mr. R. He says he has not had a spare minute, or he would 
have written before. 

Both. Nothing else? 

Mr. R. And he says he is enjoying himself immensely, but 
sufferihg with the hot weather. 

Both. Is that all? 

Mr. R. No. He also says that he is becoming, on account 
of the hot weather, quite thin. He knows this to be so from 
the fact that only a hundred boys follow him now where five 
hundred 

Georgie. Oh, pshaw! Does he say nothing about 

Clara. He certainly'has not forgotten to mention- 



Mr. R. {^Divining their meaning.) Ah! yes, yes. Cer- 
tainly. I see. The impatience of lovers. I ought to have 
known. We old men forget the callowness of youth, and the 
thoughts that burned within us before our beards began to 
sprout. Yes, in a postscript here he says the boys wrote three 
weeks ago, but have received no answer, and so think that 
they must have addressed their letters wrong. They think 
they must have sent them to some other Washington, as they 
have since learned there are about a thousand in the country. 
They are writing again, however, by the same mail. 

Georgie. By the same mail ? 

Glara. Where are the letters, then ? 

Mr. R. Probably Kate has them. I will see about it, and 
send her in. (Moves offhand turns suddenly.) I have also re- 
ceived a letter from your Uncle Gearge. He says the theatrical 
season will soon be commencing, and that he will be glad to see 



22 The Lion and the Eagle. 

us at any time. Auntie is well, and hopes the girls will not fail 
to visit New York the coming fall. He incidentally mentions 
that Sir Charles Wormley and Mr. Tom Blassy have called 
upon him, and that he has introduced them to several lady 
professionals, to whom they seem to be doing the agreeable. 
But I will see Kate, and ask her about your letiers. '^' \^Exit. 
Georgt'e walks excitedly across the stage, and Clara up center. 

Georgie. Did you hear that — did you hear that, Clara? 

Clara. ( With forced calnmess.) Yes, I heard it, Georgie. 

Georgie. "To whom they seem to be doing the agreeable." 
And still they have the audacity to write to us ! 

Clara. I suppose the next thing they will be asking us to 
marry them. 

Georgie. [Sneeringly .) And go off with them to "glorious 
old England." But I wonder what they say. I wonder whether 
Sir Charles writes to me or to you. 

Clara. You don't wonder anything about it. You knoio 
to whom he writes. 

Enter Kaie^ ivith letters. 

Kate. Here's two letters fo' you. I forgot to bring dem in 
befo'. 

Georgie. Please don't be so forgetful again, Kate. You 
may go. \^Exit Kate. 

Enter Mrs. Harpley, c, dressed for shopping. 

Mrs. H. Dear, dear! Why, you are not ready yet. I 
thought you were going shopping with me. 

Clara. Not this morning, auntie. Georgie's head 

Georgie. I do not feel quite well enough for shopping. 
My head — I — I 

Mrs. H. A little fresh air would do you good, goosey. 
Come, get ready — both of you. 

Clara. No, no ! 

Georgie. Impossible, dear auntie — impossible. 

Mrs. H. Why, you stupid little creatures, what is the mat- 
ter Avith you ? It was only this morning at breakfast that you 
said you would both go ; that you wanted to 

Clara. Please, dear auntie, do leave us alone for a little 
while this morning. {Gently leads her to the door.) We are not 
in a condition — well, never mind. Good-by. {^Kisses her.) 

Mrs. H. {Aside.) This is very strange. Never saw them 
this way before. There's something the matter, and I'm 
woman enough to want to know what it is. I'll find out when 



The Lion and tlie Eagle. 23 

I come home. A love affair, as sure as the moon is not made 
of green cheese. \_Exit. 

Georgie. {Opening her letter.) I thought she would never 
go. It is a wonder she didn't stop half an hour just to tease us. 
She knew there was something the matter. {Reads to herself .) 

Clara. ( Havi?jg opetied her letter and read a few lines. ) W hy 
— why — what is this? I've actually — yes, actually got a pro- 
posal. 

Georgie. {With a ringing laugh.') And — and so have I. 
The impudent puppy ! The impudent puppy! Clara, if you 
will permit me to use a little slang for once, 1 will remark that 
this beats — Cain. 

Clara walks uf and doivn the stage, and Gtorgie across. 

Clara. What are you going to do about it ? 

Georgie. What ^x&you going to do ? 

Clara. I asked you first. 

Georgie. Well, I don't know. It seems to me that they 
are making fools of us, and love elsewhere; playing the gal- 
lants to ladies m New York, and writing us what may be mock 
proposals of marriage. I suppose I shall have to answer it. 

Clara. Certainly we shall have to answer. I think we 
had better tell them that we can not decide until we have seen 
more of them, and that we will defer our answers until they 
come to see us. 

Georgie. {Smelling at her letter. ) This letter {smells again) 
has had some cigar ashes on it {smells again) and some bad 
breaih near it Smell ihat letter, Clara, and see if it has not an 
odor of stale Avine. 

Clara. {After smelling it.) I don't smell it. Besides, I 
am not sure that I know the odor of stale wine 

Georgie. You're a dunce. Well, I smell it. This is not 
my first love-letter, and I know the difierence between the 
smell of a cigar flavored with bad wine and the usual perfume 
of a billet-doux ; and' if this letter has been perfumed in the 
manner I assume, then the writer of it had too much wine in 
him when he wrote it. 

Clara. What a preposterous supposition ! I might almost 
call it an asinine supposition ! 

Georgie. Not at all. Now listen, Clara ; I have an idea. 

Clara. Is it possible? I always thought that giddy girls 
like you, George, never had any ideas. 

Georgie. Well, I've got one this time; and my idea is to 
concoct a little plan. 

Clara. Explain. 



2r 1 The Lion and the Eagle. 

Georgie. These young men may have been half drunk 
when they wrote these letters. 

Clara. Impossible! They are gentlemen, and gentlemei> 
never get drunk. 

Georgie. That is one of the fictions that mammas teach 
their good little girls. 

Clara. Why, Georgie, you are /?^// of ideas. Must have 
been communing with your though is lately, an occupation new 
to you. Philosophers and lovers are the only ones who do that ; 
and as you are not a philosopher, then you must be, I suppose- 
in love. 

Georgie. It may be true, nevertheless. 

Clara. What, that you're in love? 

Georgie. Goose, no. But that these young gentlemen 
may have been half drunk when they wrote these letters. 

Clara. But perhaps they are prohibitionists. 

Georgie. I do not think they are. There are not many 
prohibitionists among the gentlemen of England. 

Clara. You seem to know a great deal about it. Sir 
Charles must have been quite confidential with you at some 
time. 

Georgie. It did not require Sir Charles Wormley, nor even 
Mr. Tom Blassy, to tell me that. I could see for myself when I 
was over there that the English drink a great deal. 

Clara. But then they have some respect for ladies. 

Georgie. Not much — at least, not always. I have heard 
that the Englishman loves his horse a little better than his dog, 
and his dog considerably more than his wife. 

Clara. You should not believe all that you hear. But 
what is your plan ? 

Georgie. My plan is this : We will go to New York as 
actresses seeking an engagement. We will take Uncle George 
into our confidence, and he shall invite (apparently unknown 
to us) these young gentlemen to witness a trial of our abilities. 
We shall then find out if they are falling in love with every girl 
who goes behind the footlights. 

Clara. Very good, Georgie — an excellent scheme. But 
don't you think they will recognize us ? 

Georgie. I'll take care of that. I'll tell Uncle George to 
put them behind a screen of some kind, and that they are only 
to hear us and not to see us. In any event, he must place us in 
the shade, so that, if they j/wm/I:/ peep (as I know they will) they 
can not make us out. 

Clara. But they will know our voices. 



The Lion and the Eagle. 25 

Georgie. Not necessarily. You know, they have never 
heard us sing, and that is all we shall do in their presence. 

Clara. And dance? 

Georgie. And dance, of course, in a mild way. And if we 
should have to speak a few words, why we can disguise our 
voices. 

Clara. But what will pa and auntie say ? 

Georgie. Oh, we shall have to tell them that we are going 
on a visit to Uncle George 

Clara. Which, of course, we shall be doing; and so we 
shall not be telling a story. 

Georgie. Certainly, certainly. It would not do to tell a 
story. Lovers wt'z/^r tell stories. They always 

Clara. Why, here's auntie back from shopping. 

Enter Mrs. Harpley with three or four pare els ^ivhich she 
lays on the table. 

(iEORGiE. And, unlike us, she is full of good sense and — 
other tilings. 

Mrs. H. Yes, and other things. Just look here, [Attempts 
to undo a parcel.) See what I've been buying while you two 
geese have been talking love and such stuff. 

Clara. What is it, auntie — a yard of tape ? 

Georgie. Or a spool of thread — which ? 

Mrs. H. It is neither, you goslings. I knew I should make 
your eyes water. Look! It is a duck of a bonnet. [Exhibits 
a bonnt t. ) 

Clara Oh, what a beauty ! Ln't it handsome ? 

Georgie. It's just too lovely for anything! Did you buy 
it for me, auntie? It will just match 

Clara. Do let me try it on. 

Mrs. H. {Picking up her parcels.) Come, both of you. I 
want to show you something else— something you've never 
seen before. Oh, it's simply grand. 

Georgie. What is it? What is it? What is it? 

Clara. Oh, do tell, auntie ! Do tell ! 

Mrs. H. Not now, dears. Wait until we get upstairs. 
Come. 

Both Girls. Oh, what is it, auntie? What is it? What 

is it? 

Exeunt; Mrs. H. carrying her parcels .^ and Georgie and 
Clara hugging her. 



26 The Lion and the Eagle. 

Scene 2. — The Bowery^ N'ezu York City. A dog barking is heard 
outside, and a noise as though the dog were worrying something. 
Enter Johi Blassy backwards slowly^ and trying to kick the dog 
off^ which he succeeds in doing just as he comes on. His tJ-ousers 
are disarranged, his hat awry, and he is panting for breath. 

Blassy. Save, me, lads ! Save me! I am worried by dogs. 
( Gives a kick. Looks, and sees there is no dog there. ) Now, by the 
fat of all my ancestors, I know not why that dog should 
treat me thus. I was walking quietly along the Bowery just 
now when that skulking pup, that dirt-enveloped cur that 
hungry-looking hound, that flea-devoured mongrel, that yelp- 
ing, snarling, crust-eating snipe of the gutter, flew at me from 
behind a boy's legs, and attacked my extremities most villain- 
ously. I did not hear the lad say anything to the dog, nor did 
I see the dog wink to the lad ; hence I am at a loss to account 
for it. H'm, now I think on't, I've heerd that here in New 
York dogs are taught to know a Chinaman, and to fly at him 
on sight. But am I a Chinaman ? Bah ! ( Takes out his hand- 
kerchief.) Do I look like one? Bah! [Wipes his face.) True, 
I am shrinking away. This hot weather is having its eff'ect. I 
am becoming a mere shadow of my former self. Another 
month of it, and I shall be as lean and wizened as one of Duck- 
erson's professional skeletons. But I am not becoming moon- 
eyed. Nay, lads, I am not becoming moon-eyed, am I ? [Looks 
up to the gallery.) This is frightful! This is frightful! An 
honest British merchant to be taken for a rat-eating Mongolian. 
Does this come from eating rats ? ( Puts his ha^ids on his stomach) 
Nay. I think not ; but good beef, lads — ^juicy beef and ale. 
My mishaps in thisgre&t city have been many ; but to be taken 
for a Chinaman is the unkindest one of all. I shall write a book 
when I go home. Everybody does it It pays — so I've heerd. 
And I shall have lots to say about the gamins. They do not 
follow me so much as they did, which is one reason why I think 
I am getting thin. Occasionally they seize upon me, and then 
— yes, then I have a frightful time. For a week or two after I 
landed I could not leave my hotel without an army of small 
boys following me. Some would whisper (as only small boys 
can whisper) : " Have a care, old man ; if you fall, the earth 
will quake." Others would shout : " How much fur yer beetle- 
crushers, Mr. Shadow ? " I have since learned they meant my 

boots; I wear No. 15's. Still others would yell [A noise is 

heard outside) Ah, here's a crowd of 'em coming now. I had 
better be going, methinks. 



The Lion and the Eagle. 27 

Enter ^ before Blassy can get away^ about ten Bozvery boys. 
One shottts,'^IIere^s old Anti-fat P' They initnediately 
snrj'otmd Blassy. Eour get hold of his coat-tails and pull 
him different ways A?iotherfonrJuvip around Jiiin and 
keep t<p a hideous itoise. One crawls between his legs, and 
as he emerges exclaims^''' Oh^ivhat a Jumbo foot !'^ An- 
other jzanps on his shoulder and yells in his ear : " Where 
are yer now, old Lamp-post ? Old Beef-cater, where are 
yernow ? Whaf II yer gimme to let up on yer ^ old Plum- 
pudding ? " While Blassy is making a vigorous effort to 
shake the boys off^ Sir Charles and Tom Blassy enter; 
whereupon the boys run off. 

Blassy. {In a weak voice, overcome with fatigue.) This is 
frightful ! This is frightful 1 {A little louder.) \ can not stand 
this much longer. My life is a burden. 

Tom. [Disgustedly.) Or your burden is your life. 

Blassy, All the ragamuffins in the land follow me with cries 
of "Anti-fat!" 

Tom. They ought to follow you with cries of " Fatty 
Auntie ! " 

Blassy. [Brushing and arranging his clothes.) This is a 
beastly country, where an honest man is a curiosity or a subject 
of mirth. 

Sir C. It is not for your honesty, Mr. Bwassy, that the boys 
honah you with their notice, but for your excessive corpulency. 

Blassy. I say it is for my Iionesty — my excessive honesty ; 
for no man gets fat who is not honest. And a country that has 
no fat men has no honest men 

Sir C. But Amewica has thousands of fat men. 

Blassy. Indeed ! Then she mtist have some honest men. 

Enter George Duckerson in time to hear the last remark He 
is dressed in a light summer suit, and has a brisk air about 
him. He slaps Blassy familiarly . 

Duck, Right you are, old man ; right you are. We're not 
all bank cashiers. But how's your good health? [Shakes his 
hand.) Mrs. D. will be here in a minute ; just dropped into a 
store to buy some — some candy, I believe. And how's the 
kids ? ( Turns around and shakes a hand each of Sir Charles and 
Tom.) Blooming, I see. Never better. Hal ha! ha! [Pokes 
them both in the ribs significantly.) 

Sir C. The kids are well, thank you. 



28 The Lion and the Eagle. 

Tom. And are enjoying themselves immensely. 

Duck. I know it; I know it. Have heard all about your 
pretty doings lately. By Cain, but you are going it lively for 
two — two greenies. Ha! ha! ha! [Turns to Blassy .) And 
how's the hot weather skinning your bones now, old Broad- 
sides? Still the same old thing, I see. Still good^for a show. 
How about my proposition ? Did you think of it ? Consider 
my offer still open. I'm just out for 

Mrs. D. (/« the wings.) You old, impatient, unfeeling 
wretch, you ! [Enter.) Not even one minute can you wait till 

I [Becomes all s/nilcs upon seeing Mr Blassy.) Ah, Mr. 

Blassy, so glad to see you [Shakes his hand heartily .) I was 
just scolding Mr. Duckerson for leaving me; but I see he has 
got into better company. Why, what makes you frown so? 
Has he been saying something dreadiul ? 

Blassy. Not very dreadful, but very irritating. He needs 
a lashing, Mrs. Duckerson. He needs a woman's tongue. 

Mrs. D. If that is all the lashing he needs, I may say he gets 
it quite often. 

Blassy. Apparently not often enough. 

Mrs. D. Didn't you hear the sample I gave him just now? 

Blassy. Why, look you, Mrs Duckerson, I am myself 
somewhat acquainted with the endearments of matrimony; and 
that was a mere matrimonial endearment compared to what he 
should get. 

Mrs. D. Oh, I don't know what I shall do ; I really don't. 
He's perfectly awful — perfectly awful. But how's your son 
and Sir Charles ? ( Turns to them. ) 

Sir C. Speaking for myself, Mrs. Duckerson, nevah beltah. 

Tom. And I have nothing serious to complain about 

Duck. Now, Nellie dear, vacate. We three have a little 
business to talk about. 

Mrs. D. I'll go when I please, George. 

Duck. That's a good wifey ; I know you will. So please 
to go, and here's the pound of chocolate creams I promised 
you. [Attempts to snatch a kiss, but she prevents him.) 

Mrs. D. Viper, how dare you ? 

Duck. Talk to old Longbottom there ; he's waiting for you. 

Mrs. D. Come, Mr. Blassy, you shall be my escort this 
afternoon. 

Blassy. [Looking pleased.) To — to what do I owe this 
unlooked-for pleasure ? 

Mrs. D. Oh, George has got a little business with Sir 
Charles and your son. 



The Lion and the Eagle. 29 

Blassy. But — but are you not — not afraid, you know, to 
walk with me ? 

Mrs D. Why should I be afraid to walk with you, Mr. 
Blassy ? 

Blassy. My — my extraordinary size, you know. Boys will 
be boys, and they sometimes insult me. 

Mrs. I). They will not insult you if I'm with you. 

Blassy. Why so? 

Mrs. I). They never insult gentlemen who are with ladies. 

Blassy. Very extraordinary country where the ladies pro- 
tect the gentlemen — very extraordinary. 1 thought it was a 
universal rule for gentlemen to protect the ladies. 

Mrs L) Well, you see, the ladies in my country have some 
rights that everybody is bound to respect; and that is one of 
them. Wearing large Gainsborough hats at the theater is 
another, and the poor men dare not say anything. {She takes 
his arm.) Take care of yourselves, gentlemen. [To Sir C, 
Tom^ and Mr. D. ) We are going for a walk. 

[ Exeunt Mr. Blassy and Mrs. D. , talking quite lovingly 

together. 

UucK Well, boys, how did you like the lay-out — the little 
dainties I spread before you ? 

Tom. liugely. 

Sir C. Gawgeous cweatures ! Gawgeous ! Gawgeous ! 

Duck. Ha! ha! ha! I told you they were fine girls. I 
suppose you took them out again yesterday ? 

Tom. Yes; and we have planned another drive for to- 
morrow. 

Duck. By Moses! but you are wiping the town up lively ! 

Sir C. Won't you join us to-mo^vow with that other chawm- 
ing cweature, Mrs Duckerson ? 

Duck Couldn't possibly do it ; have a business engagement. 

Sir C. a what ? 

Duck. A business engagement. 

Tom. [Incredulously.') That will do, Duckerson. We know 
something about^'^z^r business engagements. 

Duck. You may believe me or not, gentlemen ; but two 
ladies of the profession wish to see me to-morrow. 

Sir C, A vewy pwetty story, 

Tom Full of ingenuity and — and truthfulness. 

Duck. It's a fact, boys. Seeking an engagement, I believe, 
and wish to give me a specimen of their talent. They 

Sir C. Ha! ha! ha! Capital! 



^o The Lion and the Eagle. 

Tom. The story further embellished and rounded out 

Sir C. Give it another touch, Duckerson. 

Tom. Yes. The story lacks finish. 

Duck. You don't believe me! All right. Good day. 
( Tufjis to go .) 

Sir C. Here stop, Duckerson. If your story is twue, what 
say you to giving us a peep at these new beauties ? 

Duck. Couldn't po.ssibly do it Wouldn't think of it. 

Tom. Our drive for to-morrow could be postpohed, you 
knoM-, 

Duck. I tell you I couldn't think of it. My professional 
reputation would be at stake. I could never 

Sir C. The deuce take your pwofessional weputation. 

Duck. I could never look 

Tom. You could easily get us into the room, put us behind 
some screen, and the thing is done. 

Duck. Boys, you take my breath away. You make me 
gasp. 

Sir C. If you want us to believe your vewy ingenious 
womance, you see how you can do it. 

Tom. Come now, what say you, Ducky, old boy ? 

Duck. {Reluctantly.) Well, I don't know— I don't know. 
Perhaps I might manage it. But it hurts me — it hurts my pro- 
fessional pride. 

Sir C. Well, if that is all that will get hurt, vewy few peo- 
ple will know it, and still fewer will believe it. 

Duck. Suppose the girls should see or hear you ? 

Tom. We'll watch that. Our applause shall be confined to 
a gurgle of admiration. 

Duck. You promise not to show yourselves, nor to beg for 
an introduction ? 

Sir C. We pwomise on our bonah. 

Duck. Then, if you're determined upon it, be at my office 
to-morrow at half-past two, or a little before. Good day, and 
be very careful of yourselves. {Aside ) I hooked my fish that 
time. 

Sir C. and Tom. Good day. Good day. 

[Exit Duckefsoh^ R. 

Sir C. Capital! capital! More worlds to conquer. 
Tom. But that was a mustard plaster — not to beg for an 
introduction. 

Sir C. Aw, well. Things will adjust themselves in time. 
Tom. I fear not in our time. Look who is coming. 



The Lion and the Eagle. 31 

Enter Blassy and Mrs. Duckerson still arm in arni^ diii 
Blassy is ptiffing and altnost out of breath 

Blassy. My spleen! My spleen! 

Mrs. I). I'm really sorry, Mr. Blassy, if I have been walk- 
ing too fast for you. 

Blassy. Not at all. Don't worry It'll be over in a minute. 

Sir C. What, back alweady ? 

Mrs. D. Yes, and we have had a splendid walk. Been all 
down the Bowery, along Canal Street, Grand Street, J>leecker 
Street, up Broadway 

Tom. No wonder my father is blowing like a porpoise. 

Sir C. Mrs. Ouckerson has only been exercising him a 
little — twaining him, perhaps, for some pugilistic contest. 

Blassy. It's nothing, boys. Nothing — nothing. 

Sir C, Or for some future gladiatowial exhibition with the 
Bowery small boy. Now twy the duml)-bells. 

Mrs. D. Ha! ha! ha! Yes, Mr. Blassy has been telling 
me all about it; how you rescued him from the jaws of — the 
very jaws of death. How dreadful it must be to be fleshy. But 
where is my husband ? 

Sir C. Gone — gone home. [Aside.) I pwesume. 

Mrs. D. Gone home? Then I must be going too, and be 
there before him, or I shall never hear the last of my escapade 
with Father Blassy. Ha! ha! ha! 

Sir C. Don't be in a hurwy. Shall one of us accompany 
you home ? 

Mrs. D. No, thank you ; I'd rather go alone. Good-by. 
Ta-ta, Mr. Blassy. 

Blassy kisses his hand^ and the others say " Good-by T 

{Exit Mrs, Duckerson. 

Blassy. A charming woman, but fear — fearfully fast. 
[Hastening to correct himself .) I mean a fearfully fast walker. 

Tom. Father, you're a chump. 

Blassy. A what, me lad? 

Tom. a chump. 

Blassy. What is a chump? 

Tom. Well, if I must tell you, it is slang for a blockhead, a 
dolt, a fool. 

Blassy. Tom, Tom, me lad, don't call your old father a 
fool. Call me a blockhead, a dolt, a jackass, an' you will ; but 
call me not a fool. 



32 The Lion and the Eagle. 

Tom. I did not mean to call you a fool, father. A -'chump" 
is not quite so expressive as that. It means a person who has 
acted foolishly. And you act foolishly, father, in indulging in 
the pleasures of the table so much when you see that it keeps 
you so fat. It nettles me to see my old father the sport of boys, 
when he might, by a little self-denial, reduce his size to that of 
ordinary mortals, and thereby prevent his being a jest forever 

Blassy. Aye, aye, me lad ; but how? 

Sir C. ' hat'sit, Mr. Hwassy. How? 

Tom. Live on bread and water, if there's no other way. 

Blassy, Well, well, Tom ; we'll not quarrel. When you 
get to my age, you will learn that it is no easy thing to live on 
bread and water. 

Sir C. 'Tiseven worse, I should judge, than wiving on bread 
and cheese and kisses, 

Tom, He might try the kisses alone. Some people live on 
love. 

Sir C. Or dyspepsia. Dyspepsia is a never-failing wemedy 
with Americans for reducing flesh. Try and get dyspepsia, 

Blassy. What is dyspepsia. Sir Charles ? 

SirC, Dyspepsia? Why anybody in this countwy can tell 
you what dyspepsia is. 

Blassy. Do they sell it in drug stores? 

SirC In some dwug stores — yes. 

Blassy. And you are sure it is a good remedy ? 

Sir C, Perfectly sure. 

Blassy. Ever try it yourself ? 

Sir C. Nevah, 

Blassy, Then how do you know it is good ? 

Sir C. I judge fwom its eff.^cts on the specimens I have 
seen. 

Blassy. I'll get some! I'll get some! 

Sir C. Then I'll have to intwoduce you to some sufferwing 
native. He'll show you how to take it. 

Blassy. Sir Charles, I'm your devoted friend. Show me 
how to take dyspepsy, and I'm your devoted slave. 

SirC. All you have to do is to watch him at the table. He 
takes it at his meals. 

Blassy. { All moving off together. ) Before or after ? 

Sir C. Sometimes before, but generally after. 

Blassy. I'll buy some, Sir Charles; I'll buy .some. I'll try 
dyspepsy. I'll try it! I'll try it! Anything to reduce this 
Rocky Mountain of flesh. 

\^Exeunt. 



The Lion and the Eagle. 33 

Scene 3. — Mr. Duckerson^s office in his theater. Enter Mr. 
Duckerson. 

Duck. {Looking at his watch.) It is now twenty minutes 
after two. I told Sir Charles and Tom to be here a little before 
half past. They have not the faintest suspicion of who the 
ladies are, and I do not intend that they shall be enlightened. 
I suppose they will go wild, and want presenting this very 
afternoon. Oh, no. I shall hustle the girls into a carriage 
immediately after it's over, and the young fellows may rave 
themselves sick. It's only fun for the girls, I know ; but I've 
given my word of honor to do this thing squarely, and I mean 
to do it. It may be that they — {a knock is heard) — ah, here they 
are. Come in. 

Enter Sir Charles and Tom Blassy. 

Duck, ( Contimdng. ) How do, gentlemen ? Just in time. 
Beaten the ladies by a neck. Now don't break your necks in 
beating them behind that screen. Let me 

Tom. Now this is no hoax. 

Sir C. Nor one of your infernal jokes? 

Duck. Never more serious in my life. I'm trembling in 
my boots. Wish I hadn't let you come. 

Tom Ducky, old boy, you won't refuse us now. 

Sir C. Wemember, Duckerson, we know a pwetty little 
story about you that Mrs. Duckerson 

Duck. Well, then, hurry up. Here, get behind this screen. 
I hear the ladies coming. Hurry — hurry! {He pushes them 
partly behind the screen. ) 

Tom, Onemoment, Suppose — suppose^oh, hang it ! Sir 
Charles, you say it. 

Sir C. I think Tom is twying to say, Mr. Duckerson, that if 
we should take a particular fancy to these wadies, you surely 
would not wefuse 

Duck. Don't have time to listen. i^A knock is heard at the 
door.) Now be slippery. Look lively. Get behind there. 
( Hep ushes them aga in.) C o m e i n 

Enter Georgie and Clara dressed in elegant style .^ but con- 
trasting somewhat^ each with parasol.^ gloves^ etc. 

Georgie. {In a disguised voice.) This is the manager, I 
believe? 

Duck. {Bowing.) It is, at your service. 



34 The Lion and the Eagle. 

Clara, (/w a disguised voice.) And you received our letter, 
I presume ? 

Duck. I did. 

Georgie. Aw, then we will proceed to business without 
further ceremony. 

Duck. May I ask what line of business? y. 

Clara. A little of everything. 

Georgie. Down to song and dance. 

Duck. Indeed! I should be pleased to witness a trial of 
your abilities as song and dance artistes. 

Clara. Certainly. 

Gf.orgie. ( Whispering.) Are they here, uncle? 

Duck. [Whispering.) Yes; behind that screen there. But 
don't speak so loud. 

Georgie. [Moving toward the screen.) We have scarcely 
room here, Mr. Duckerson. Suppose we move 

Duck. Don't kick that screen, ladies. {Sir C.a?td Tom start 
in surprise. ) 

Clara. It takes up too much room. If you will kindly 

Duck. I tell you again, ladies, don't kick that screen. 

Georgie. We are not going to kick it, sir. We are only 
going to move it. 

Clara. I think the gentleman must have something behind 
the screen that he does not wish us to see. He seems so anxious 
about it. 

Georgie. Perhaps a bull-dog. [Clara screams.) 

Duck. Yes, I have a bull-dog there — two of 'em. [Both 
ladies scream.) And British bull-dogs at that [Both scream 
again, and Sir C and Tom shake their fists angrily.) Fighting 
bull-dogs — vicious, snarling beasts. So look out, and don't go 
too near. 

Clara. Oh, Mr. Duckerson, Mr. Duckerson, why did you 
allow us to come here ? 

Georgie. We had no idea that this was a menagerie. Have 
you any other wild beasts ? [Sir C. and Tom start again at the 
thought of being compared to wild beasts. ) 

Duck. No others, I assure ; and these bull-dogs won't hurt 
you if you keep out of their way. Besides, they're chained up, 
and I've put a muzzle on them. 

Clara. Put a muzzle on them? 

Duck. You bet. I've got 'em where the hair is short. 

Clara. Then how do they eat ? 

Duck. Oh, like dogs. [Sir C. and Tom gleam with rage. ) 

Georgie. But how do you feed them ? 



The Lion and the Eagle. -jj^ 

Duck. Feed them sometimes with my boot, but oftener 
with a club. 

Ci.ARA. Don't you give them anything el>e ? 
Duck. Not much else during the dog-days, and we are now 
in the dog-days. At least, they are in /^^V dog-days. Every 
dog has his day. 

'i OM. [To bir C.) I will not stand this much longer. 

Sir C. ( To Tom ) He's a villainous mountebank. I shall 
take the wiberty of pulling his nose at the first opportunity. 

Georgie. You seem to know a great deal about dogs. 

Duck. About bull-dogs— yes. But these are only puppies. 
At least, I don't think they are full-grown, because they have 
such pvippy ways. 

Clara Oh, why then we needn't be afraid of them. 

Duck Not a bit. They're leally the most harmless puppies 
you ever saw. They think they've lots of courage, like all 
puppies, but they haven't a thimV)Ieful. They crawl into their 
holes on the slightest scent of danger. They crawled into their 
]>resent holes because they heard a footstep on the stairs. 

Tom. {To Sir C.) This is horrible ! 

Sir C. {To Tom.) Most horwibly horwible ! A Bwitish 
pcercwawling into a hole to be the sport of a knavish show- 
man. 

Georgie How I should like one. 

Duck. What, one of these ? 

Georgie. No, no ; I didn't mean that. 

Clara. She meant a bull-pup like one of these. 

Duck. Oh, well; perhaps I'll make you a present of one of 
these some day. But let me show you them. They are fine 
specimens. Just one peep. {Sir C. and Tom fall back in dismay.) 

Both Girls. Oh,no, no, no. 

Georgie I'm afraid of their fangs. 

Clara. I can almost see their gleaming eye-balls. 

Duck. All right. As you say. We'll take a peep at them 
some other time — when they're asleep, perhaps. 

Georgie. That will be better. 

Duck. Well, then, let us to business. What will you try ? 

Georgie. We have had written for us a little song of the 
sea that we will try. 

Duck. All right. That will remind us of those other dogs — 
the sea-dogs. 

Clara. Exactly. 

Duck. Well, then, all ready ? 

Georgie All ready. 



^6 The Lion and the Eagle. 

They sing and dance thefol/oioing : 
Old Ocean. 

Glorious sea ! Boundless sea I 

How delightful to be 
Rocked to sleep by thy leonine hand, 

In forgetful repose 

Of the world and its woes ! 
For all ills fly away at thy wand. 

What on earth can compare 
With thy rich bracing air 

For the poor weary toilers of earth ? 
Yielding health, yielding wealth, 
Doing good e'en by stealth, 

Asking naught in exchange for thy worth. 

Land is bought ; land is sold ; 

Men bequeath men its gold ; 
But no birthright thou ever hast known. 

All to thee are the same : 

Rich and poor, strong and lame. 
Can inherit thee and call thee their own. 

Let us go, then, away, . 

To the beach, where the spray 
Murmurs sweetly its song of the sea ; 

And we'll sit on the shore. 

Watch the waves dash and roar. 
Dreaming sadly, Old Ocean, of thee. 



ACT IH. 



Scene r. — Grounds and conservatory around Mr. KoseweWs 
house ^ Washington. Three rustic seats partially coicealed from 
each other. Enter John Blassy^ arm in arm with Mrs. Harpley 
and Mrs. Duckersofn. Blassy is in full evening dress, a little 
old-fashioned — large double-breasted white vest and large neck-tie. 

Blassy. ( Wiping his forehead.) 'Pears to me you have din- 
ner early in this country. In my 



The Lion and the Eagle. 37 



Mrs. H. We consider it good for digestion. 
IJlassy, Hut my digestion is very good. 
Mrs. H. But not very complete. I mean- 



Mrs. I). Exactly what you say, Alice. Mr. Blassy's diges- 
tion is not very complete, else he would not be so fleshy. 

HlassY. Why, my dears, I am taking physic to cure that. 
Hut more physic I take, the more I seem to eat. Didn't you 
notice my appetite at dinner ? 

Mrs. H. Not particularly. 

Mrs. I ). We all eat rather heartily, I thought. 

Blassv. But my appetite is — is frightful — frightful. How- 
somever, I am taking physic for it. I am taking dyspepsy — I 
think Sir Charles calls it. Funny name. [Both ladies look at 
each other in blank astonishment.) Never heard of it in my life 
beiore. 

Mrs. H. What did you say the medicine was, Mr. Blassy ? 

Blassy. Dyspepsy — yes, dyspepsy. I'm carlain that's the 
name. 

Mrs. D. W^ must Ti\fA.xi dyspepsia, 

Mrs H. But taking it as a medicine. I don't understand. 
Do you buy this medicine ? 

Bi-ASSY, Why bless my 'art, yes. Buy it in a drug-store. 

Dollar and a quarter a bottle; six bottles for {Both ladies 

burst into peals of laughter.) I — I see nothing funny about it. 
Cost me twenty-four dollars already. And now 

Mrs. D. Who told you of this medicine ? 

Blassl. Sir Charles — Sir Charles did. He said it was a 
capital thing for reducing flesh. Nearly every American 
took it. 

Mrs. D. {Slyly.) It doesn't seem to reduce jK^wrflesh, much, 
Mr. Blassy. 

Mrs.H. Sir Charles told you ! I didn't think that of Sir 
Charles — didn't think he was such a wag Now if it had been 
your husband, Nellie, I could have understood it. 

Mrs n. Yes, indeed. If it had been George, the thing 
would have been perfectly consistent But Sir Charles 

Bi.ASSY. Bless your 'arts, ladies, what do you mean ? I'm 
all at sea. They both told me. I never 

Both Ladies [Bursting into laughter again.) 'Tis enough ! 
'Tis enough ! 

Blassy. Some joke on me, I'll bet a sovereign. I've been 
the victim of waggery ever since I landed in the country. 
B ooming queer country ! Every man a joker, and every joker 
taking physic. 



38 The Lion and the Eagle. 

Mrs. D. But how did George come lo tell you that dyspep- 
sia was good for reducing flesh ? 

Blassy, Why the way on't was this: Sir Charles told me 
that I should watch some sufiferinf^^ native taking it at his meals. 
With that he took me over to Mr, Duckerson, who was just 
eating dinner, and told him what I wanted. Now I ;.hink on't, 
he (2'/</ seem a little staggered ; but he immediately got up and 
said: "Ah, yes, yes. I have a botlle of it here. I take mine 
before meals; some take if after, and some take it all the time. 
I would advise you to take it all the time, John. It's very fine 
stuff — very fine stuff. Try it. Costs only a dollar and a quarter 
a bottle." I did try it. It tasted very good It had a suspi- 
cious flavor of port wine. I liked it all the better After din- 
ner he took me to the only druggist in town, as he said, where I 
could get it. 

Mrs. H. And you bought a bottle ? 

Blassy. Six of 'em. Because, you see. I take it all the time. 

Mrs. D. But what did the druggist say when you inquired 
for a bottle of dyspepsia ? 

Blassy. H'm. Ah. Mow I remember he did smile a little. 
But I thought nothing on't at the time. Duckerson told him I 
wanted it like his, and then whispered a few words which I 
failed to catch. The druggist then asked, " Will one bottle be 
enough?" and Duckerson said, ''Take six, John; take six." 
So I took six. Have been taking six ever since. But it seems 
I get fatter. 

Mrs. H. Did you bring any with you to Washington, Mr. 
Blassy ? 

Blassy. Brought six bottles when I came a week a^o, but 
it^s nearly all gone. I shall have to send for more. 

Mrs, D. Any about your person now? 

Blassy. Yes, I always keep a small bottle about me. Will 
you taste it ? [Produces a bottle. ) 

Mrs. D. Certainly. ( They both taste it. ) 

Enter Mr. Duckerson and Mr. Rosewell, c. 

Blassy. It has a very good flavor. Don't be afraid of it, 
I drink a bottle a day of it sometimes. 

Duck. (Aside to Mr. Roseivell ) Zounds, Robert ! Look at 
that, will you? Look at that! Old Broadsides carries his 
bottle of brandy with him, and induces ladies to drink in secret 
out of the same bottle. By heavens, and my wife, too I 

Mr, R. This is very strange of Mr. Blassy. 

Duck. Hello there! What's all this about? Mv wife 



Tht Lion and the Eagle. 30 

<drlnl<ing whisky in secret? And you. Alice, also? I thought 
you had more respect for yourself. I know my wife is capable 

of anything, but you — I 

Mrs. D. You miserable, horrid wret-ch,you! You ought 
to be flogged! This is some of your whisky— some of your 
medicine — ymir cux^ far ^Vii {Dttckfison degms to realize what is 
jfhe 7imtter^ smiles^ ami finally bursts into a loud guff axv) ^ that only 
_T<?Mr druggist is able to supply poor Mr. Rlassy here at a dollar 
and a quarter a bottle For shame! 

Mr. K. ( To Blassy, taking hold of kis arm, ) Some dreadful 
joke, I see, of my brother-in law. Pray excuse him, Mr, 
f-Jlassy, pray excuse him. He is never happy but when he is 
funny, and never funny but when he is happy. ( They retire up 
C, Btassy shaking his head dubiously,) Let it pass. You have 
two able defenders in mv sisters 

Duck. My sweet chicken, my adorable ranter, you are too 

severe John will bear me out that 

Mrs. D. And pray who is John ? Youdonotmean 

DiTCK, Who is John? Why, old Anti-fat there 
Mrs. H. I'm perfectly ashamed of you, George. To speak 
that way of a guest in my brother's house. 

Enter Sir Charles and Georgie, who sit on one of the rustic- 
seats ; then follow Tom and Clara, who take another seat. 

Mrs. D. And one worth ten of you. 

DtTCK. He will weigh ten of me if he goes on taking my 
medicine. 

Mrs. D, Viper! I have no patience! 
Duck. I am miserably aware of it, my dear, 

Mrs. D. ivalks across the stage ^ too angry to speak. 

Mrs. H. What will Mr. Blassy think of us ? What will he 
think of American ladies and gentlemen ? What will he do 
when he gets home ? 

Duck. He'll write a book, and put me in as the chief comic 
character — next to himself. 

Mrs. H. George, have you no reason? Do you never get 
into a thoughtful mood ? 

Mrs. D. He never does, Alice ; he never does. Let us go. 
I am sick. An eternally funny man is the greatest bore in 
existence. 

Duck. Yes, let us go ; let us go look at the ducks. In the 
meantime I will offer you each a wing. {He offers them his arms. ) 

Mrs. H. There he goes again with his buffoonery. 



^Q The Lion and the EagTe. 

Mrs. D. And truly he is only a buffoon, and a disgustrng; 
one at that. ( Thry take his arm, and nioz'e off. ) 

Duck 1 am always obliging lo ladits. If a wing is not 
sufficient, then take the whole dnck. ( He clasps them both sud- 
denly around the waist, and exeunt in that position ) 

Mr. K. ( 7^0 BlassyS) No, I'm afraid we shall >4iot gel the 
bill through this session. But don't let that worry you 

BLASbY. It (o't'^.y worry me. I am going home in a month. 

Mr. R. Not so soon, Mr. Blassy; not so soon. Why, you 
haven't >een any of tVe wonders of our great country yet. A^ou 
haven't even seen any of our Indians, our Congressmen, and 
other — and other wild tribes. 

Blassy. Ha! ha I ha I Never thought of it. Where cam 
I see ihein ? 

Mr R. Many of them — our Congressmen, for instance — 
you can see there on Capitol Hill, in the Cave of the Winds. 

Blassy. Cave of the Winds— Cave of the Winds. 

Mr. R. Yes; or Windy Cave. 

Blassy. Windy Cave. Why Windy Cave ? 

Mr R. Oh, because it is so very windy up there when the 
average Congressman is spouting. 

Blassy. Hal ha! ha I You Americans «r^ a 'umerous lot ; 
you a;r a 'umerous lot 

Mr. R It often blows so hard that nobody but his constitu- 
ents ever hear what he says. 

Blassy Ha! hal ha! Ha! ha! ha! All jokers— all 
jokers. ^Exeunt Mr. Rosewell and Mr. Blassy. 

Tom and Clara rise slaiulyfrom their seats. 
Clara. {Plucking a Jlo7aer.) Only a rosebud. Pretty, i? 
it not ? 

Tom. Yes, very 

Clara. Are you fond of rosebuds? 

Tom. Of that rosebud, yes. 

Clara. I would put it in your button-hole, but I'm afraid. 

Tom. Afraid? Why? 

Clara. Oh, I don't know if you don't. 

Tom. Well, I'm sure I don't. So put it there. 

Clara, But what would some of those New York ladies say ? 

Tom. {Staiiled.) What do you mean ? 

Clara. Oh, I don't know if you don't, 

Tom, I fail to penetrate. Is that why you are afraid ? 

Clara. Yes. 

Tom, Then be not afraid any longer. Put it there. 



The Lion and the Easrle. 



4» 



Clara. {Putting it in his button-hole. ) But you might think 
too much of it. 

Tom. I couldn't. 

Clara. But you might. 

Tom. Impossible. 

Clara. There ! It looks decidedly aesthetic on its back- 
ground of black. 

Tom. May I think as much of it as I like ? 

Clara. Oh, yes ; a flower means nothing. But I told you 
I was afraid you would think too much of it. 

Tom. I can never do that. What do you call this cluster 
that you wear in your — in your corsage, is it? I'm not well 
versed in women's dress. 

Clara. You will be some day. 

Tom. What do you mean ? 

Clara. When you marry. Your check-book will enlighten 
you. 

Tom. ( Putting his arm lightly around her waist. ) I f m o n ey 
could buy such a thing of beauty as this, then 

Clara. [Gently disengaging herself .) That will do. Don't 
carry my joke too far. 

Tom. Is it very expensive? 

Clara. What? 

Tom. a wife. 

Clara. I don't think so. But I've never been a wife. 

Tom. Quite right. I didn't think of that. But you might 
be some day. 

Clara. I hope so, though I don't think I have seen my 
husband yet. 

Tom. Are you sure? 

Clara. I see plenty of gentlemen I like, but few that 

I have no heart, I'm afraid. 

Tom. I'm afraid you have not. 

Clara. What do you knoAV about it? 

Tom. a good deal. I have been looking for it. 

Clara. You areas foolish as all the rest. I don't like men 
who can talk nothing but nonsense. 

Tom. It is not nonsense. Men sometimes mean what they 
say. 

Clara. Very rarely. Do you remember our first meeting ? 

Tom. No. I know it was on shipboard ; but our acquaint- 
ance never seems to have had a beginning. I simply knew you. 

Clara. And trusted me ? 

Tom. And trusted you. 



42 The Lion and the Eagle. 

Clara. My! I don't know. It was not 

Tom. What? 

Clara. Nevermind. Did you like New York ? 

Tom. Will you not finish your sentence ? 

Clara. It was nothing — a thought that should not have 
been uttered anyway. But tell me, are you g,ping back to 
London ? • 

Tom. Yes, I suppose it is best for me. 

Clara. I suppose — it — is. 

Tom. I fear I shall not be happy, though. 

Clara. Yes, you will. There's where the eyes of the world 
are centered. There's where there is brilliancy, and gayety, 
and clever people, and worldly power; and you will find 
another — I mean other friends. 

Tom. And so you wish me happiness ? 

Clara. Indeed — indeed, I do. 

Tom. Then why not contribute towards it ? 

Clara. Tell me how I can. I will do anything within my 
power. We have talked frankly enough at times; let us talk 
frankly now. 

Tom. Our friendship has been wasted if we can not be frank 
with each other now. I am going away soon 

Clara. Yes, you are going away soon. To say that I shall 
miss you is to talk platitudes. I dare not speak what I feel. 
You will not misunderstand me ? 

Tom. No ; you may be sure of that. 

Clara. You need not squeeze my hand quite so hard. 

Tom. Did I really have hold of your hand ? I was think- 
ing [Slight pause.) 

Clara. Well, of what were you thinking ? 

Tom. I have never [looking at her dubiously) — I have never 
spoken of love. Sometimes a little sentiment has stolen in, but 
you have not encouraged it, not even 

Clara. I don't like sentiment. It's always hollow and 
foolish. 

Tom. But have you not sometimes thought I loved you ? 

Clara. Yes, sometimes. And I shouldn't wonder if you 
have not sometimes thought I loved j^«. 

Tom. I have, sometimes. 

Clara. But how could I love a man who never sought to 
be anything but a friend ? 

Tom. And how could I ask a woman who gave me her 
friendship to accept my love as a reward for her friendship, and 
to give me hers as a reward for mine ? If I had taken advan- 



The Lio7i and the Eagle. 



43 



tage of your friendship to make love to you, I should have 
come to the base level of the rest of mankind. 

Clara. Now you are talking nonsense. Do you believe 
that I would ever have given you my confidence if there had 
been nothing but friendship ? And I am very much mistaken 
if friendship ever could be so warm as yours that had no deeper 
motive power. 

Tom. Take care, Clara ; you are committing yourself. 

Clara. Committing myself or not, why should I rot speak 
in a'matter that so nearly concerns my happiness ? Tom, you 
are going away ; you are going to leave me; you have taught 
me to trust you; you have weaned me from all other confidants, 
and made me one-half of yourself You have known all the 
time that I loved you. If I have read you M^rongly, it has not 
been your fault. Our happiness calls for us to speak the truth 
— woman or man. 

Tom. Clara, you have read me aright, as I have you. No 
woman that had not all my love could have had all my friend- 
ship, as you have had. You are my other self; and where I go, 
you shall go. I believe that we were made one for the other. 
( Kisses her. ) 

Clara. And now, Tom, darling, I don't mind if you do 
indulge in a little sentiment now 

Tom. {Encircling her waist very lovifjgly.) And nonsense 
too? ' 

Clara. And nonsense, too. 

Tom. {Kissing her again.) This kind of nonsense ? 

Clara. Yes. 

They move up the stage very fondly .^ and come suddenly upon 
Mr. Blassy and Mrs. Harpley^ who have just entered. 

Blassy. {Disgustedly.) Drat it! Drat it! These young 
'uns are always so intent upon their own love-making that they 
never see anybody else. 

Mrs. H. Why you were not making love, Mr. Blassy. Why 
should you be annoyed ? 

Blassy. I am not annoyed, Mrs. Harpley. But I was — 
well, I can't express — I mean I was — I w s.?, fee ling \o\e^ if I was 
not making love. 

Mrs. H. Pshaw ! Mr. Blassy. Pshaw! A man of your age. 

Blassy. Why, look you, Mrs. Harpley, my vigor is not yet 
affected by my age, and my age is not so great as to have weak- 
ened my constitution, and my constitution is good for another 
thirty years. 



44 The Lion and the Eagle. 

Mrs H. {Edging a Utile closer to him.) Hut what has all that 
to do with me? 

Sir Charles and Georgie get up and move sloivlv toward the 
footlights^ unconscious of Blassy and Mrs. H. 

Blassy. Why, look you, only this : I have ,been thinking 
lately what is life worth living for if not to — in short, 1 have 

been a widower now some Drat the infernal luck ! Drat 

it! Here's another spoony couple! Always coming when I 
am in a mellow mood, and want to say something — but come, 
come. [ Mrs. H. takes his arm., and exeunt talking together 

Sir C. This is not spwingtime, is it, Miss Wose well ? 

Georote. Certainly not. 

Sir C. Then I'm sure there must be something in the 
Amewican climate conducive to love and tender thoughts, A 
fellow seem-; lo dwop as natuvvally into love as — as — I beg par- 
don, Miss Wosewell, but am I not getting foolish ? 

Georgie Perhaps you are But I — but /do not think so. 
Pray go on, Sir Charles. 

Sir C. ( Toying with his eye-glass .) Your answer is wather 
ambiguous. {Slight pause ) And so this is Washington. 

Georgie. That is not what you were saying. 

Sir C. Perhaps not, but it will do. The last time I was in 
this countwy I was acquainted with a family in Washington — 
the Lovillons. 

Georgie. You know the Lovillons? Why so do I. What 
a pretty girl Marie Lovillon is ! 

Sir C. {Drily.) Oh, yes. 

Georgie. You say that as if it were anything but your 
opinion. Don't you like her ? 

Sir C. Not extwavagantly. 

Georgie. {Quickly.) Why? 

Sir C. She's not my style exactly. Were she more like 
you, for instance, I should pwobably like her bettah. 

Georgie. {Coldly.) I value your compliment at its true 
worth. Were she in my place, no doubt you would have said 
the same thing. 

Sir C. {Calmly.) It is possible. 

Georgie. {Scornfully.) Your effrontery is admirable. 

Sir C. And my temper imperturbable. 

Georgie. And your impudence magnificent. 

Sir C. And my admiwation bestowed where I think 
pwoper. 

Georgie. You're no gentleman. 



The Lion and the Eagle. 4^ 

Sir C. Cut a peer of the realm, and a lord of the manor. 

Georgie. Your birth or your queen may make you a lord, 
but not a gentleman. 

Sir C. Come, now, why should you grow angwy at my hum- 
ble little attempt to say in an indivvcct way that I — like you ? 

Georgie. I am duly grateful. 

Sir C. And that evah since I came to your father's house I 
have been — I have been 

Georgie. ^More graciously.) You have been what ? 

Sir C. Let me see, how long have I been here ? 

Georgie. About a week. But you were saying that you 
have been something during that time. 

Sir C. Yes, yes. I hav^e been — I think I have been getting 
foolish, as I said before. Ah, well ! When it is happiness to 
be foolish [looks fondly at her), 'tis foolishness not to be happy. 

Georgie. ( Very graciously.) Sir Charles, you seem to feel 
love, while other people only talk it. 

Sir C. Did I speak of love? 

Georgie. I thought so. 

Sir C. Then it must be because you are my auditor. Gen- 
erally I wegard love as a disease, the distinguishing chawacter- 
istic of which is a tendency to convey the most commonplace 
ideas in ultra-human language. With you for a listener, how- 
evah, it would seem almost appwopwiate. 

Georgie. Indeed! What would seem almost appropriate ? 

Sir C. To expwess a man's feeling for you in any combina- 
tion of hyperbolical words such as lovers use. 

Georgie. I wonder if I have anything to do with the feel- 
ings which prompt you to talk thus. 

Sir C. By heaven, you have. 

Georgie. How am I to know it ? 

Sir C. Do not laugh, and I'll play at love like the veriest 
lover of them all. 

Georgie. Like you have played at it in New York, for 
instance. 

Sir C. Egad ! but this is too much. You mock me. You 
seem to have a hidden meaning in your words. What mean 
you ? 

Georgie. Oh, nothing. Only uncle incidentally mentioned 
one day that he thought you and Mr. Tom Blassy were sighing 
to get back to New York, especially as he had promised to in- 
troduce you to two lady professionals whom you had seen giv- 
ing an exhibition of their talent. 

Sir C. Miss Wosewell, you know that your uncle is a most 



46 The Lion and the Eagle. 

abominable joker, always twifling wiih other people's most 
tender feelings. [Astdf.) A villain ! A base villain ! 

Georgie. Sir Charles, I will believe you, and take your 
word for it that you are only now p/aymg a.t love. 

Sir C. Egad! I have a mighty leaning to it. 

Georgie. Some day you'll play at it in earnest, gjid /^e " the 
veriest lover of them all,'' or I'm no prophetess. 

Sir C. Methinks the day has come — the hour — and the 
zaoman. Can you not see that evah since I have known you — 
since that happy day when 

Georgie. [JVaively.) When you said that all American 
ladies (or 7vomen. if you would rather have it) — that a'l Amer- 
ican women were affected ; that they laughed too much ; and 
that the girls giggled immoderately at the most commonplace 
remarks. 

Sir C. Ah, then you have not forgotten that little scene on 
shipboard. I have been in your thoughts sometimes, it seems. 

Georgie. Yes, I have occasionally thought about you. 

Sir C. And I — I have always thought about^'(?«. 

Georgie. Always? 

Sir C. Always 

Georgie. And nothing more than thought about me ? 

Sir C. Yes, from the first you have been my idol. Your 
image has evah been in my heart, and I have fallen down be- 
fore it, worshiping it always. [Clasps her waist.) Will you 
permit me to continue worshiping ? 

Georgie. {Archly.) Well, I don't know. I think I had 
better; for perhaps that is the only way to get my revenge for 
the many disagreeable things you have said about the Ameri- 
cans, Sir Charles. 

Sir C. [With a sly look.) The truth is always disagwee- 
able, Miss Wose — I mean Georgie. {Slight pause.) And it 
was nevah more so than when you told me that the English 
were the most selfish, egotistical, and arwogant people on the 
face of the earth ; and that I was the most selfish, egotistical, 
and arwogant of them all — because, you see, I think you were 
half wight. 

Georgie. Well, if I were half right, and you were half 
right, let us make it wholly right. {Holds up her lips for a kiss ^ 
and Sir Charles kisses herunctiously.) But I wonder if you will 
always be willing to so candidly acknowledge your faults. 

Sir C. Always, when my deah wife uses her persuasive 
voice to convince me that I am wong. 

Georgie. Ah, I'm afraid not, especially if I am using my 



Tlie Lio7i and the Eagle. ^7 

persaasive voice to convince you that it is wrong to go out of an 
evening and leave your wife at home. But there is one thing, 
Charley 

Sir C. {SHghtly disgusted.) Not ♦• Charley," my deah ; but 
** Charles," if you think "6>VCharles " too formal now. 

Gkorgie. Well, there is one thing, Charles, I want you to 
acknowledge ; and that is, that we are not such a very peculiar 
people as you once said Ave were. 

Sir C I do acknowledge it from iheboltomof my heart. 
Still 1 must say that, though you may not be such a vewy pecu- 
liar people, yet j(?e^, my deah, are a vewy peculiar person. 

Georgie. I a peculiar person ? And why? 

Sir C. Why? Because you are going to marwy wr. 

Georgie. I^Shyly ) Woman's ways are past finding out. 

\^Exeunt^ lovingly. 

Ejiter John Blassy, Mrs. Harpley, and Mrs. Duckerson, 
zvho take a retired seat that is barely able to hold the three. 

Plassy. Here 1 flatter meself we shall not be observed, 
Talce a seat, ladies. 

Mrs H. No prying eyes to see what we are doing. [Sits 
down in one comer of the seat. 

Mrs. D. And no rascally husband to note the peculiarities 
of t h e si t nation . ( Sits do^un in the other corner) 

Blassy. {Squeezing himself in betiucen the two ladies.) Ha! 
ha! ha! ^' Peculiarities of the situation "is good. A jelly-fish 
between two sardines could not be more peculiar. I feel like a 
jelly-fi^h. 

Mrs. D. Which means that we are two sardines. 

Blassy No, no, no! You put a wrong construction on my 
words. I said 

Mrs. D. Did you not understand it so, Alice ? 

Mrs. H. Not exactly. Even if it were possible to construe 
it so, Mr. Blassy did not mean it so He is too good-natured . 

Blassy. [Patting her tinder the chin.) That's a good little 
dear. It ought to be kissed, so it ought. 

Mrs. D, Am I in the way, Alice? 

Mrs, H. Not at all, Nellie; not at all. [In an undertone.) 
Is she, Mr. Blassy? 

Blassy. No, no, no — certainly not. [Aside) Though one 
thorn in me side would be enough. 

Mrs. D. I think we shall have a double wedding soon. 

Blassy. [Startled.) A double wedding! What, in the 



4$ The Lion and the Eagle. 

Mormon style — two women marry one man? Ladies, you do- 
not mean me. 

Mrs. H. [Both ladies laughing.^ Why no, Mr. Blassy ; we 
haven't proposed to you yet. The double wedding Nellie re- 
fers to is that of your son Tom to Clara, and Sir Charles to 
Georgie. They have been so inseparable of late ^hat it has 
become the talk of the household. 

Blassy. Tom — my son — going to marry ? Going to marry 
so soon? Well, well! how could it be otherwise ? I knew it 
must come some day. And I shall be left alone in my old age. 
[He hangs his head pathetically. ) 

Mrs. H. Do not take it so to heart, Mr. Blassy. There are 
always good friends in the world. 

Blassy. But none to cheer me. 

Mrs. H. Yes, some to cheer you. 

Mrs. I). {Slyly.) And some even to love you. 

Bl\ssy. You, Mrs. Duckerson, talking that way — you, a 
married woman. I — I — never 

Mrs, D. Never thought that you were fascinating enough 
to inspire a woman with love ; but you are 

Mrs, H. Nellie, do stop your nonsense. What with you 
and George, Mr. Blassy's life is a burden. 

Mrs, D. Yes, a burden greater than most men's. 

Mrs. H. And one, perhaps, that he does not propose to in- 
crease by marrying. 

Blassy. What — what in the name of common sense is all 
this about? What have I said to cause all this? Here I am 
bemoaning me son's marriage, and then thrown all at once into 
a discussion of me own. It must be another joke conceived by 
that villain — I mean your varry 'umorous husband, Mrs. Duck- 
erson. 

Mrs. D. No, he is not in this plot. Only Alice and I. 

Mrs. H. Do, Oi? stop your ridiculous nonsense. What does 
Mr. Blassy care what we think about him ? 

Mrs. D. " We," indeed ! ''JVef" I did not mean myself 
at all. 

Blassy. Bless your 'arts, ladies, I love you all. There's 
only three things worth living for, and 

Mrs. H. And what are they, Mr. Blassy ? 

Blassy. They are women, wit, and wine. You see, I alter 
the order in which some other poet has said the same thing. 

Mrs. D. (Looking quizzically at his figure.) Some other 
poet? 

Blassy. Y'es. The other poet said : " Wit, wine, and 



The Lioii and i/ie Eagle. <}9 

women." You observe that I place women first, because with 
them are associated all the domestic joys — and — and thingsof 
that sort. {Both ladies nod affirmatively.) Next I place wit, 
because with that is associated all the joys of mixing with men 
of sense — like myself. [Both ladies smile affirf?iatively. ) Last I 
place wine, because, you see, that is more, I may say — more of 
an animal joy; but still — digreat ]oy. [Aside^unctioitsly.) And 
perhaps, after all, ihe greatest ]oy ^ without which the other two 
would at times be very tame. 

Mrs. H. [All three rising from their seats.) Mr. Bl assy, you 
seem to be something of a philosopher as well as a poet. I 
could sit at your feet and drink wisdom for hours. 

Mrs. D. Then sit, Alice, sit ; don't get up yet, I must be 
going. I suppose George will be looking all over for me. 

Mrs. H. Nonsense. He knows you are in good company. 
But go^go if you want to. We'll not detain you. I guess Mr. 
Blassy and I can interest each other, can't we Mr. Blassy ? 

Blassy. Why, bless my 'art, yes. Of course, of course. 
But that is no reason why we 

Enter Georgie and Clara hurriedly 

Georgie. W^hy, here they are. Where have you been ? 
We have been looking for you all over. 

Clara. We want you to come into the kitchen to-night. 
We are going to have a dance ? 

Mrs. D. A dance, indeed ! What kind of a dance ? 

Georgie. A real plantation breakdown. Will you all 
come ? 

Mrs. H. Of course we will come. I suppose you dance, 
Mr. Blassy ? 

Blassy. Bless your little souls, ladies, my dancing days are 
a thing of the past. 

Mrs. D. Humbug. You are as full of the agility of youth 
as an alderman's pocket is of boodle. 

Georgie. Why certainly he is. Here, aunties, get hold, 
and let us make a Tucker of him, and show him how easy it is. 

The four ladies Join hands, dance around Blassy a few 
times, and then all give him. a good push . 

Blassy. Ha! ha! ha! That is immense. H'm It brings 
back the callow days of me youth. I shall be there. 

Clara. That will be just too lovely. 

Georgie. Yes, and old Jake says he will play the violin and 
call the figures. 



5° The IJon and the Eagle. 

Clara. And we have asked Kate to bring her beau and a 
few friends. 

Georgie. To make it look like the real thinjj you know 
Mr. Blassy. "^ ' 

Blassy. How nice 

Mrs. H. We shall be there. 

Mrs. D. All in good time, and we shall certainly bring Mr. 
Blassy along. 

Blassy. Who will most willingly consent to be brought by 
such fair creatures 

Clara. Don't forget. 

Georgie. If you do, we know where to look for you now 

Mrs. H. We shall not forget. 

[Exeunt Georgie and Clara. 

Mrs. H. ( Continuing. ) And so vou will have to dance now 
Mr. Blassy. ' ' 

Mrs. D. Of course he will; and I shall claim him for my 
partner. 

Mrs. H I was going to claim that honor for myself. Now 
which do you prefer, Mr. Blassy ? ' 

Mrs. D, Yes, which do you prefer ? 

They doth look lovingly tip to his face. 

Blassy. [Looking first atone and then the other. ) How happy 
ought I be, indeed ! The right and left bower in my hand. 

Both. But which is the right bower ? 

Blassy. H'm. I never thought o' that. I can hardly tell 
theright bower from the left. I'm only new to the game. So 
you will have to settle it between yourselves, me dears. * I'm 
the little joker. ( Offers his arms^ and they moz'e off. ) For meself 
I never knew before that I was such a great ladies' man. But 

'tis a queer world, and we know not — we know not 

[Exeunt. 

Scene 2. — Kitchen in Mr. RosewelFs house, cleared of everythino- 
except a bench.^ on which Jake is discovered timing his violin. 
Enter Kate and her deatc^ and another colored couple, followed in 
afe7v seconds by Sir Charles^ Tom, and Mr. Duckerson. Then 
come Georgie and Clara, immediately followed by Blassy^ Mrs. 
Duckerson^ and Mrs. Harpley, the t7co ladies striving to outdo 
each other in fascination 

Blassy, Well, ladies, have you settled between yourselves 
your little difficulty ? 



The Lion and the Eagle. 5 1 

Duck, [Getting hold of his wife's ami.) Nellie, I want you 
for my partner. 

Mrs. D. You miserable wretch I I wanted to dance with 
Mr B I assy. 

Duck. Can't do it. Don't you see that Alice wants that 
— that distinguished honor herself? 

Mrs. D. I know it; and that is why I wanted to tantali/e 
her. 

Duck. Perfectly womanlike. But then you might leave 
her a free field for once. And if you want to do any tantalizing, 
tantalize me; that's a little deary. Besides, old Bag-o'-Bones 
might tread on your toes, and then 

Mrs. D. You're simply horrid. But we'll dance in their 
set, anyhow. 

Duck. All right, but look out for your toes. 

Georgie. Now, Jake, are you ready? 

Jake. Yes'm; yes'm. 

Georgie. 'Ihen choose your partners. 

Sir diaries, Georgie, Tom, and Clara occupy the right of 
the stage in front. Blassy, Mrs. Harpley^ Mr. Dtuker- 
son^ and Mrs. Duckerson take up a position on the left in 
front Kate, her beau, and the other colored couple occupy 
the back of the stage. Jake starts up the music, the orches- 
tra accompanying him ; and he sings asfollan's, the test 
also singing, Ihit not so as to divwn Jake's voice : 

Choose yo' pardners ; time's er-flying ; 

Take yo' places on de flo'. 
Don't yo' hear dat fiddle cryin' 

'' Nickerdemus Ebbermo ! " 
S' lute yo'' pardners ! Bow perlitely. 

Dat's de motion through en through. 
Srving dem corners ! Step up ligh tly. 

Hail, Columby ! Hallaloo ! 
Fus'' fd' forward ! Keep 'er diggin'. 

Nozv you sasshay back agin. 
Neber mind yo' ragged riggin', 

So's 't don't show de naked skin. 
Lawdy ! see dat old man Blassy, 

How he bow en scrape aroun' ; 
Head seems like a looking-glassy. 

Shines so bright up on de crown. 



52 The Lion ami the Eagie. 

Ladies change^ en keep 'er scootin'. 

Cross right ober^ no7v yoit siving. 
Hold dem heads up highfalutin' ; 

Look permiskus, dat's de thing. 
Mussy ! look at Missy Georgie ! 

Dat gal flings a supple toe. 
Crack yo' heels dar, Massa Charlie ; 

Bow en smile, en — " so en so." 
Balance all I Now don't git lazy. 

Fly aroun' en tar yo' shirt. 
Stomp dem feet, but don't go crazy^ 

Else Mam Harpley sho' git hurt. 
Fiddler got his mouf wide open'm, 

Holin' down de music tight ; 
Teeth, dey settin' sorter slop'm, 

Look like tomestones in de night. 
All sasshay ! I clar to gracious, 

Nebber seed de like befo' ; 
White folks sho'ly dance audacious 

When dey hab an open flo'. 
Heb'nly kingdom ! look at Clary, 

Bofe eyes shining like de moon. 
*' Don't git w'ary, don't git w'ary," 

Dat's de way to change de chune. 
Promernade alU Now dat comes handy. 

Hunt yo' seats en take a res'. 
Gentermens will pass de candy 

To de gal he love de bes'. 



THE END. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



016 165 656 2 • 



